


Consequence of truth

by SassyGrape



Category: Red Dead Redemption, rdr2 - Fandom
Genre: A witch abroad, Action, Adventure, Caring about each other, Cowboys, Drama, Family Feels, Female Reader, Fist Fights, Fluff, Friendship, Jack is EVERYBODIES child, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Modern!Reader - Freeform, Mythology References, Other, Poor Life Choices, Reader-Insert, SOFT BOIS ok I like em soft and they DESERVE some softness, Shameless, Sharing a Bed, Soft Boy Arthur, Soft Boy Charles, Soft Boy Javier, This cowboy will be saved, Time Travel, Witchcraft, but who knows what will happen, everybody hates Micah, fuck tuberculosis, in this house we CARE about Molly, no planned romance, not spoiler free, shitty humor, singing a lot of singing, sorry abigail, that boy can't survive on Abigail and John alone let's face it, there will be angst and comfort, weird facts peppered in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 104,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyGrape/pseuds/SassyGrape
Summary: There were some things you had not considered possible in your life and travelling back in time was one of them. Just like promoting medical school. Or getting up early without feeling tired. But here you were, lost by your own fault.Soon after, you find yourself at the mercy of outlaws who you'd never thought could exist. And you have to learn to find your purpose in this world - and if you have any at all.You: studying medicine, a witch (yes, we'll take that as genderless word, which it is) and a huge RDR2 nerdThe cause: Your preoccupied mind while trying some new spell and actually thinking it would go well





	1. Chronophobia

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For a Price](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226143) by [KyraSif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyraSif/pseuds/KyraSif). 



> Caution: the named relationships are platonic, I choose to tag them so you can see with which characters the reader has more interactions than with others
> 
> So this is a work in progress which I started three weeks ago, originally writing it in my native language and form the Me-POV (where I'm at 83 pages, still counting, so obviously I have no control over my life anymore but whatever I guess), so I'm sorry if it reads a bit sloppy. Since I read that witch-fic from @KyraSif I couldn't stop thinking about posting mine, too. I really adore their writing and it inspired me to add to the topic. You should check out their work “For a Price” - it's so so promising!

This wasn't the mild and magic midsummer-night you had imagined. Actually, you weren't so sure of how exactly you had imagined it, but – not like that. Definitely not. First of all, it should be summer and, well, night.  
Something had gone terribly wrong. Tremendously so.  
Usually the magic you worked didn't so much as sometimes change matters minimally, if it even worked at all. This went for mojo-bags or spell-jars to protect your home or just – any magic, since you were, frankly, not as active as a witch as you wished you'd be.  


Of course you knew that your small successes would feel like enormous ones to others, but you always aspired for fast, big results – very well aware of the fact that magic just didn't work that way. For nobody. Never. At least not that you knew.  
Still you had expected something else to happen but that.  


Probably you just should have stayed away from messing around with time itself.  
But everything had sounded so appealingly easy – the simple items, no dramatic big spell you had to recite, the efficiency of it all. As a student of medicine and working part-time you very seldom had time for time consuming magic, staring for hours on candles burning down or waiting for nightfall to work a spell. These were luxurious things to you.  


So you'd bought a little skull fashioned flask, as well as blue, black and violet candles. There were enough dried herbs at your place and you'd found a broken pocket watch at your grandmothers attic. She'd probably forgotten about that thing, so you'd taken it. If she wanted it back, you would have to dig it up again – no big deal. On a white paper you'd written down the intent of the spell.  
And that, well, that probably – most likely – had been the cause of this mess.  


With best intentions you had wanted to change your past so your family wouldn't suffer from poverty the way they did. Though, in retrospect, you definitely should have written down the exact date. Obviously writing “Take me where I'm most useful” had not been your best idea and there was nobody but you to blame for what had happened.  
Though, you didn't really know what had happened.  


Of course you could still hope to have lost your mind, but that just didn't make sense to you. Strange, you thought, that I can believe in timetravel but not in losing my own mind. Probably I've already gone mad.  
Cold wind was tugging on your clothes and the soft rustling in the undergrowth unfortunately didn't sound like something a lunatic would experience the way you did. Only wearing your crop top and silk shorts you felt a stinging cold, goosebumps appearing on your arms. At least the sun was shining and somehow warming you, so you wouldn't have to freeze – just now.  


Slowly you picked yourself up and took a careful look around. That hole you'd been crawling through – also, in retrospect, not a very clever thing to do while working a spell, right? - was gone. Or at least hidden so well you wouldn't find it again. Truth be told, you had no interest whatsoever to get in there again. Being in there had been giving you the distinct feeling of that one scene from Kill Bill II in which Uma Thurman had to work her way out of that coffin. At least there had been no coffin for you.  


You checked your pocket for anything. Empty. Of course. You had not taken anything with you except the candles, the pocket watch and the flask.  
Sighing you took a few steps, noticing just how untouched the forest around you seemed to be. Even the small path you were walking on. You decided to follow it since you couldn't stay here forever. Nightfall would eventually come and you had no desire whatsoever to be in a forest you didn't know at night.  


So you followed that path which would hopefully lead you into civilisation again. And maybe, just maybe, you were still close to your village – though you really dared to doubt that the year was 1988.  
A vile feeling in your guts told you that this had not worked out at all. 

Considering the weather, this day wasn't all too bad. The sun was shining, though not too warm, but still pleasantly; birds were chirping and flying above your head, in between the trees you could see rabbits bolting around on their run from foxes.  
Realizing what you were seeing, you stared at the animals. The trees and fragrant shrubs. The blue sky. Then, again, the animals which crossed your way fearlessly. Well, not completely fearless, but there were so many of them here some just had to run by close to you.  


In your mind you crossed out every year coming after 1930.  


You wondered if you should prevent Hitlers' birth. Was that your mission? And here you just wanted to convince your parents to take a different loan for your later home.  


All around was almost a terrible silence, apart from the noise the animals caused. No engine noises, no vibrato from too many people occupying a place. As far as you could see there were only trees, shrubs, fragrant herbs and flowers.  
This, you decided, didn't really help you either since places like this were everywhere to be found as long as the climate was mild enough. You sighed.  


You walked for a little while, taking in the calm serenity of that place as something disturbed that. A distinct thunder, but not like in a storm. Curious as you were, you followed the sound, your stomach filling with unease. You would love to tell yourself that his discomfort was caused by the latte macchiato you had earlier, but were quite positive that this time the milk had not been sour. In contrast to your judgement. 

The surroundings got harsher, there were more rocks, less trees. You found yourself confronted with rough beauty. Everything just seemed so untouched, so pure that you totally lost any idea of when you were now.  
Would there appear a Lexovisarurus behind that rock over there, grunting friendly at you? Would it impale you with its spiky tail? Which, honestly, would serve you well enough. Or would you be confronted with an hungry Utahraptor which considered you a tasty snack?  


And what exactly was wrong with you to think about dinosaurs right now? Didn't you have quite other, more urgent matters to take care of? Despite your situation you already were bored again, obviously.  
That thunderous sound grew louder and as you went around a bigger rock, blocking the sight of what was about to come afterwards – dinosaurs ahead? - you gulped hard.  


_Heartattack, hello. I'm done, thank you Mister Potman, get the bill_ , you thought.  
Right in front of you was a huge waterfall. Crystal clear and bright blue, stunning and unfortunately roaringly wrong. Where you lived there were no waterfalls around. None at all, the thing closest to a waterfall was a small stream, feeding the few ponds in your area.  


Everybody knows the quote from Sherlock Holmes “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”. Impossible was that you were somewhere near your village or even in your administrative district. But why? What the hell had happened to you to find yourself in this primal surrounding with waterfalls, uncountable animals and no air pollution at all?  


But before you could come to a conclusion you heard hooves clatter behind you, together with scrunching hinges and babbling of voices. Obviously a bunch of people on carts was on their way towards you.  
Somehow a terrifying idea formed in your head, which you quickly suppressed. Way more pressing was the question whether to hide or not. 

Unfortunately the terrain around you was open to such an extend that hiding was no option at all. So you waited for what was to come. What else could you do? Sometimes one had to give in to ones fate and take whatever was there to grab.  
Standing on the bank of the waterfall you could see five wains coming your way, swathed in dust. Additionally there were three men on horses if you were not mistaken. If all the wains were occupied by two to three persons then there were at least thirteen people.  


You looked down on you, painfully aware of your clothes, and suddenly you felt awfully misplaced. What if these people coming your way were criminals? Rapists or tax defrauders? Paedophiles or sodomites? Why were you still standing there? You decided to get out of there as fast as possible and not to push your luck. But where to go? Almost panicking your looked around, frantically searching for a place to hide or at least a way to run away. There was none – except the river in front of you. If you could get through it you could hide somewhere on the other side. You wondered how deep the river was and how strong the current would be. Would you plunge down the waterfall while trying to cross the river? Was running away worth that risk? Or would you rather get confronted with these people?  


As much as you tended to act conflict-laden you also had a habit to perform rash actions. Not a combination you were proud of since the consequences never were all too pretty.  
Before you could even think about it properly you found yourself knee deep in the water, wading through the current, feeling something – hopefully a fish – touching your bare leg.  


Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. You had to cross that river now. And it wasn't that far anymore, you told yourself.  
Still, you were quite aware that those behind you were on horses and thus a tad faster than you, turning your face sour. How on earth could you have thought to outpace them like that? Obviously you had turned your brain off for good and switched to fantasy.  


“Mr. Pearson!” A deep voice echoed over the place. “Mr. Pearson, stop the wagon.”  


Behind you there was more of hooves clattering audibly, neighing and the sound of clomping through water. Without looking you knew that the horses already were in the river. Shame on me, you thought while halfway turning around.  


“Mr. Pearson, are you asleep? We almost ran over that lady.”  


The wispy spray made it almost impossible to see anything, but hearing the name had been giving you enough of chills already since it sounded unpleasantly familiar.  
The wagons stopped and the spray dissolved slowly; you could hear some complains from the people in the last row. But that was all so far away as you stared at the two men who were now right in front of you, sitting on their wain.  


Your heart did some unhealthy, hart beats against your chest and you weren't quite sure if you developed vapors right now or if you would rather gag – you felt your blood leaving your face, your palms sweating as well. You gulped, mouth dry.  


Mr. Pearson, of course. That was the cook. And at his side was, of course, dressed in fancy clothes, black shiny vest and a suave attitude, Mr. Dutch van der Linde.  


How could you not have recognized his name from the beginning? A shame, considering you had played that game for over one hundred hours. And that was it. That name belonged into a video game. Not into the real world. This was insane.  


“D-Dutch van der Linde...”, you stammered weakly while all other sensory input just numbed, there was no cold water around your legs anymore, no breeze freezing off your arms, no fresh air filling your lungs. You took the smallest two steps away from the wagon. In your head there was no place for any thought but a blinking alarm sign screaming _Abort Mission – Abort Mission - Abort Mission._


	2. First Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your mind gets even more challenged when you meet people you know. And of whom you know shouldn't exist. Maybe you're crazy. Or maybe not. This remains to be seen. Until then, you have to deal with the hand given.

“Excuse me, that waterfall's a bit loud”, Dutch said but didn't get off the wagon.  


Without saying a thing you turned away again and started to wade through the water. There was a nervous breakdown coming to you, you could feel this dark thunderstorm form in your mind and you wanted to be alone as it would unfold. No need for them to see you. Or – no need for you mind to tell you fictional characters could watch you having a meltdown.  


“Charles! Charles!”, Dutch was calling out, his dark voice rasp. What was his reason, you wondered, your thoughts coming from far away. You were almost out of the river anyway.  


But fate had different plans – for right then you stepped into a deep pit, cold water swashing over your hips to your torso. You shrieked.  


“ _Doushiteeee_!?” Howling that - unintentionally in Japanese, which used to be an inside gag of you and your friends while trying to learn that language - you threw your arms into the air, thinking about that meltdown. It wouldn't take any much longer to finally get you.  


“Charles, would you help that lady get to the other side. We don't want to spend the night here, do we?” You could hear the leader of the gang say. Obviously he wasn't well-disposed towards you since you hindered his whole caravan going east. Sadly your brain reacted with a displacement activity in form of letting you think about a german song you had heard a few years ago. It was something along the lines of: The caravan travels on, for the sultan's thirsty. But yes, this sultan here, namely Dutch, sure too wanted to get his well earned drink. You had to giggle silently. Sometimes you thought yourself to be quite amusing.  


Though your laughter withered as you realized a rider at your side, face halfway covered by his coat and hat. That one sure wasn't freezing like you were. He stared at you kind of bewildered, you returned that look more intensely. Awkward. But you were never good at lowering your gaze, so. Seemed like the staring would go on a bit.  


“Can you make it through the river?”, Charles finally asked, not taking any more staring from you. His voice was like rough velvet and not at all beneficial to your banged up state of mind. He nodded towards the bank which wasn't even seventeen feet away.  


Theoretically you could do it, it wasn't that far and you weren't completely unathletic. But you had to consider your psychological constitution as well and that was right now rather debatable down to poor.  


_Charles, let me check you out a bit, my boy_ ; you thought shamelessly – probably to not pass out right away – and didn't even care to follow his gesture towards the bank. He could wait a minute or two for your answer, patience is a virtue. That man was half black half indigenous, his long black hair was now covered by his hat and tucked into his coat. You took an extra long stare at his dark, kind eyes. You decided to examine his face further given the opportunity. There was so much more to see.  


“Miss?” Looking at you quizzically his gaze wandered from your face to your hair and back.  


_What's there to see_ , you wondered. Messy, half-curly hair – and?  


“I think I-”  


Undemanded Charles dismounted his horse – and you, being the nerd you were, passionate smartass and wiseacre, knew its name was Taima – just to stand right beside your side in the water. To your annoyance you only reached up to his collar bone, which made you even more nervous. In general you insisted to be the tallest person in the room, if given the possibility to be. Be it helped by shoes, a step or just a desk on which you could sit while others only had chairs. You were quite sure you had some unattended and therefore untreated power issues. Yes, most certainly so.  


“Come, I'll get you over there”, Charles said, lifting you up to put you onto Taima. The horse didn't seem all to pleased to have wet legs dangling on its side.  


Not sure what to think you glanced at Charles but then somehow found the courage to wrap your hands around Taimas' neck to get a better hold.  


“Just like that. Hold on.” Patiently the man led the horse to the other side of the river. While you had nothing else to do but not fall down, you took your chance to softly caress the horse, you were delighted to find that its mane was ever so soft. Taima was mercifully undisturbed by that but let out a small, peaceful neigh.  


You decided to ignore the glances Charles shot over to you, especially to your almost naked legs. In his position, you would stare, too. You would even go as far as to make a witty comment. Low-honor-you.  


Not even two minutes later you were on dry land again. Clumsily – you didn't want to look like a inept stupid girl – you slid down the rear end of Taima, landing on your feet more gracefully than expected. You sighed relieved standing on solid ground again. It seemed that the vaulting training years ago had had some good effects on you. Carefully you looked over to Charles, who still kinda frowned at you.  


“I..uh... well. Thank you, Mr. Smith”, you quickly said, feeling awkward. Thus, you started to slowly go away, anywhere really. You knew exactly where the gang was headed and the hell you'd do to take the same road. No way. This was nothing you wanted to provoke. Not at all, especially since you were crazy now.  


“Excuse me?”  


“Yes. Thank you, again.” Don't ask for sunshine or gold, please just leave me; you thought, a bit of aggression mixing in your mood.  


“Just a moment, Miss.” This time he sounded rather decisive, his voice not as low as just before. Which still was low in comparison to Dutchs' voice, but at least ten times more threatening.  


Since you weren't keen on messing with this man – almost 6,4 feet and probably two centners of muscles would just crush you in no time – you turned around to face him, your expression anxiously neutral. You wanted to evoke the impression of a lady who was now safe and didn't want to get disturbed by gangsters no more. Thank you very much.  


“What can I do for you?” You already sounded like your Grandma, piqued and full of arrogant grandeur. Why could you not keep your mouth shut, you wondered. Would that be too much to ask? Just to not anger people around you all the time.  


“You said Mr. Smith.” His eyes spoke of distrust.  


“Well, that's your name, isn't it?” Why would you deny it when you knew that this has gotten out of hand already. Now you just had to go with the flow. Accept what was coming.  


“Are there problems, Charles?”, Dutch called over.  


Well, this man really was on a tight plan, he had places to be. Maybe he'd really run you over with his wagon if you dared to slow that whole chose down any more.  


“Dutch, what did that blind man in Blackwater tell ya?”, Charles asked, not caring for your unaffected expression. You played with the thought of just running away now. But you had no desire to die now. Or get tied up. You weren't that much into bondage.  


“How you comin' up with that now?”  


“I mean, Dutch... I think that this, how he called it?”  


“He said foretelling witch.” Dutch didn't sound pleased at all.  


“Yes. I think this lady's our foretelling witch.” Now his gaze was more curious than distrustful. Which didn't better the situation because you thought you heard them say something like foretelling witch.  


“Did you... just say fore-fo-foretelling witch?” In your ears sirens screeched, drowning out every other sound, your mouth went dry. Blinking you stared at Charles, who came a bit closer, saying something you couldn't hear – you only saw his lips moving. 

Seeking for support you staggered against Taima, holding onto the horse as to not fall down. With your gaze hooded you barely could make out all the wagons, horses and people who still wanted to cross the river. Your mind refrained from doing anything stupid like causing you to scream. Or any other things at all.  
In front of your eyes black flowers blossomed and unfortunately you passed out a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a bit short. The next chapters will be longer and hopefully to your liking :)


	3. No focus witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get to have a premium place which you don't enjoy as much as you probably should. At least you can relax on your way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is waaay longer than expected and actually there should be no paragraphs, but I put some in so it's easier to read.

You weren't passed out long enough to avoid all your misery, much to your distress. Not even amnesia was granted. All these princesses in fairy tales had a better fate to sleep through all the trouble just to awake at the right time to reign a conflict-free country and marry a chaste man, be it prince or gentleman. Obviously you weren't that kind of girl.  


Rather agonized you opened your eyes, blinked a few times and unfortunately were awake again. Being forced to see, hear and in general feel things again, you noticed how uncomfortable you were laying. Also, you got joggled around.  


Slowly you grew accustomed to the bright daylight, sky above was still painted intensely blue with no cloud floating by. You felt warm, completely different from what it was like to stand in that river. Maybe you were still unconscious and dreamt all that?  


“Unpleasant? And how do you rob and kill people pleasantly?”, you could hear Charles ask almost sarcastically – but not sharp enough to be actually mean. Hearing that you knew you hadn't been passed out for more than twenty minutes, just as you knew they'd put you onto the most stuffed wagon. You thought they might have hoped you would not fall off like that – being squished between boxes should keep you in your place.  


Cautiously you let your gaze wander and found yourself facing Charles' boots. So he was the one doomed to keep an eye on you. You told yourself to stay low now, that talk would be kinda important for their character development.  


“We don't in spite of Dutch's talk”, one of the men sitting on the coach box replied. It was Arthur Morgan and your heart skipped the one or other beat hearing his pleasantly husky voice. Just don't lose your composure, you told yourself. You knew that the third man on the coach was Hosea, a witty, elderly guy who knew how to behave in order to get what he wanted. You were with the cool kids.  


“I fear I was perhaps trying to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our blockheaded driver here”, Hosea chimed in to loosen the tension. Though, not really successfully.  


“Hey, don't blame it on me”, Arthur almost called out. “Never forget, this here's a conman, Charles, born and bred. Just 'cause it sounds fancy don't mean he knows a damn thing about what he's talking about.”  


Some sort of serene silence followed that while Arthur was spurring the horses to go faster. All you could think about was how you'd managed to steer that whole carriage down a cliff playing the game, followed by screams from everybody falling. It had been very realistic and you'd felt bad. And all that just to check if there were invisible borders in the game. You'd rather not mention this now.  
Additionally you didn't want to disturb the men talking.  


“So, what happened to your tribe?”, Arthur revived the conversation, his voice calm but nonetheless a tad curious.  


“I don't even know if I have one...”, Charles said. His foot in front of your face was padding almost nervously one would think. Your head hurt rhythmically to his tapping and you could feel your dehydration. Though you knew what was following now, you felt a lump in your throat built up.  


“... least not that I can remember. My father was a colored man. They told me he lived with our people for a while, a number of free men did, but … when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much. All life I've been on the run. A couple years later, some soldiers captured my mother, took her somewhere.” He halted and you felt the urge to bury your face in his boots, suddenly feeling deep sympathy for him. Though not sounding all too sad, you just knew he wasn't happy about his past. “We never saw her again. We drifted around... He was a very sad man and the drink had a mean hold on him. Around thirteen I just took off on my own.”  


“That was about the age we found young Arthur here, maybe a little older”, Hosea stated. “A wilder delinquent you never did see. But he learned fast.”  


“Not as fast as Marston, apparently”, Arthur mouthed off about that.  


In your head every hollow roared and you hoped to be able to officially wake up soon. You were thirsty and hungry. You longed for some ibuprofen. Such would lighten your day a lot now.  


“Wait... I don't understand.” Charles' feet suddenly stood still and you felt his weight shifting. If he'd fall down right now, you'd get smashed. Aspiring medicine student squashed to death by muscleman – what a headline. Though, they would most likely just throw your body into the river and forget about it. “What's the problem between you two?”  


“Arthur?”  


So Hosea had no desire whatsoever to tell that lukewarm story of two stubborn boys.  


“Uhhh.. it's a long story.” Arthur much rather spurred the horses than elaborating the topic. “We still heading the right way?”  


“That depends...” Now the older man sounded almost snappish, hardly to recognize. “Are we still heading west, in search of fortune and-”  


“Repose in virgin forests, as we planned? No. Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.”  


Silence followed that monologue you had just finished in Hoseas' stead. It just had happened, words flowing out of your mouth like water runs down the drain. Not only could you feel the three man stare at you in utter confusion, no, you too had just proven that you had spent too much time of your life with a video game. Knowing all the cutscenes by heart was nothing to be proud of. Apart from that, you really liked the daydreams inspired by the game.  
But this was not a daydream. Sure, it was day but much rather nightmarish. 

You preferred staring into the sky than looking anywhere near Charles. Hopefully they – and you – would recover from that shock fast.  
Much to your dismay Charles bowed over you, giving you the opportunity to examine his handsome face close up. You felt heat crawling up your cheeks. Not so good.  


“Unbelievable”, he mumbled, staring at you. Then he seemed to recollect. “Are you feeling better, Miss?”  


“Well, good enough to follow our conversation I assume”, Hosea mentioned from his place in the front. Wood cracked a bit – surely the man leaned back to get a better look on Charles and you. “Don't let Dutch know you already know his monologues.”  


_I love you, you screamed internally. You old crook, why don't you freeze with respect of my knowledge? Why don't you tremble in awe? Why are you so chill? I love you, man._  


On the outside, you slowly sat up – which got hindered by a thick blanket. So that's why you were warm. They had covered you against the cold! You felt your heart swell with thankfulness. Gently Charles helped you up so you could lean against the wood. He also draped the blanket over you again as you sat comfortable. This man could move you to tears with his softness!  


“Or else he'll have you gagged”, Arthur halfway joked. What an unpleasant imagination.  


“The way you ruffians scare her he doesn't have to do so.” Hosea told Arthur to stop the wagon, so the driver stopped the wagon and Hosea got off just to get up at the rear end again. He squatted next to Charles and smiled gently. “Miss, I'm glad you are awake again. For a minute I thought Charles had scared you to death with his frightening appearance.”  


“With all due respect, Mr. Matthews, Charles may look like a bad fella, but in his heart he's...” - you were really tempted to say lovely, but you hindered yourself, “decent chap.” You allowed yourself to grin shamelessly which earned you a throaty laugh from Hosea. His green eyes glistened with amusement and you could even hear Arthur suppress a chuckle.  


“We better not tell Micah about that, or else he'll tease you forever”, Hosea decided towards Charles, who examined you with a scrutinizing look. Just as if you had guessed his favourite colour correctly. “So, you seem to know us very well. How can we know you're not a bounty hunter?”  


“Hosea, look at her.” Charles shook his head. What was that supposed to mean? Just because you weren't covered in scars and didn't say bitter, cynic things you didn't qualify as a bounty hunter?  


“Considering our situation we have to be especially careful.”  


“He's right”, Arthur and you said at the exact same moment. Now even he turned to face you.  


“How the hell you do that?”, he asked, his eyes covered by the shadow his hat threw.  


You decided to punish his nosiness with silence. Firstly, you didn't even know how to answer that, secondly – no skilled conjurer ever told their tricks. If you only knew how yours worked!  


“Well?”  


“I'm neither from the Pinkerton Agency nor am I a bounty hunter”, you finally said. Luckily your head didn't ache as much anymore, but still uncomfortably so. Usually you never had headaches, not even a tendency to develop them. Perhaps that was just a after-effect of this totally messed up spell. Most likely it was.  


“And how we may address you?” Hosea just wouldn't give up, nosey to an almost unbearable extent.  


“I'll think about something, I'll tell you at Horseshoe Overlook.” Grudgingly you muddled deeper into the blanket, hoping you had ended that discussion now. How could you explain a thing to these men when you yourself had no idea what was going on? 

_Just let me think about it_ , you thought. 

_You'll get a name and story. Just not now._  


“Marvellous. Just marvellous. This blind man really knew what he was talkin' about”, the older man mumbled, nodded into your direction and made his way back to his place at Arthur's side. The horses got spurred again.  


As the ride went on, you allowed yourself to relax a bit, slowing your breaths – you even got a bit tired. Despite being watched over by sharp-sighted Charles. That guy would perhaps never forgive you, damaging his reputation by calling him a decent chap. Internally you laughed. All these allegedly bad men should really give in to their softness from time to time, though you wouldn't want to be the one to tell them that. Keeping your face neutral you avoided being called out for giggling over something that unrealistic.  
After all, you were quite a talented liar. 

“So... was she right with .. uh... what she said?”, Arthur turned to ask Hosea after some time of being quiet.  


“Indeed she was.”  


“You know this area?” Now even Charles had the urge to take part in that conversation.  


“A little, I've been through a couple of times. There's a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine.”  


Intricately you leaned onto some boxes on your left. Damn, this position was highly uncomfortable. Very atrocious.  


The men went on, talking about the whereabouts, about Valentine, about how likely it was to find O'Driscolls – a adversarial gang – or, even worse, Pinkertons there.  
Charles gaze was still set on your face and head in general, though you couldn't tell if his expression was grim or just a tad annoyed.  


“Did I insult you?”, you finally said, against your better judgement.  


“No.”  


“Then why you stare at me that withering?”  


“You don't know me, Miss, and suggest I'm not a bad man.”  


“Well, because you ain't. Sometimes strangers know you better than yourself do.” With a weary smile you watched the birds in the sky above you, suddenly yawning. Rubbing your eyes, you realized just how sleepy you felt. The blanket around your shoulders slipped off you a bit – before you could do anything about it, Charles pulled it back up in place. Over the verge of the blanket you smiled roguishly at him. Charles just looked away, abashed and offended and caught in his benignity.  
Up on the coach box the conversation went on, this time more interesting.  


“And how low do you think Dutch is really going to lie?” That was a valid question from Hosea, though it sounded quite rhetorical. “It's just... you know, maybe it's me who's changed, not him, but, we kept telling him that the ferry job didn't feel right. You and me had a real lead in Blackwater that could've worked out.”  


“Maybe.”  


“It just... isn't like Dutch to lose his head like that.”  


“Things go wrong sometimes”, Arthur replied – which sounded more than a defense in favour of Dutch. “People die. It's the way it is, always has been. Me, you, Dutch... we've all been in this line of work a long time, and we're still here, so... I figure we must've got it right a hell of a lot more than we got it wrong.”  


Just how you wished these words to be true and that things just happened. C'est al vie or how they say in France. But, it wasn't like that, especially here. Especially since you were here. You really wished for a classic T-Rex now. For then you would've just thrown yourself into its lane as the best snack there's ever been – mission accomplished. But here? Caught in this halfway wild, not so midwest west? In a dimension not even relevant to yours? One shouldn't want to complain about ones fate all the time – though you were specialized in that – but you had literally no idea what good you could do here. Or should. You just knew that the gang would find a maximal bad end. 

More dead than alive they'd get out of this storyline. Just as well as the characters had died you had experienced a full grown nervous breakdown, maybe lasting for four or more hours. Just sobbing hard, only interrupted by sudden anger.  
Buried in your thoughts, you looked at Charles, taking in just how strikingly handsome his face was, his marked cheekbones and the full lips. How the dendritic scar on his right cheek didn't really disfigure him – it only made him more mysterious. His neat eyebrows. In your opinion he was one of the most likeable and somehow attractive characters this adventure had to offer.  
How nice it would be if all of them were allowed to lead the life they deserved. 

And there you realized what had happened. It didn't hit you like a lightingbolt, it wasn't a sudden insight, it wasn't even a surprise. More like a slowly arising gut feeling which had been around you for a while.  


There was not much for you to do – just help those survive who deserved so. The fact that you had to change history here didn't bother you all too much. It didn't really affect your world, your real life or your time.  


You had excessively been dreaming you into a story and had been more into that while doing your spell than you had focused on your family. And that very unspecific ask on your paper had done everything else to lead to this. So, you assumed, you actually were quite a skilled witch. Not very focussed, but skilled nonetheless.  
Done with yourself you huffed into the blanket just so you wouldn't curse yourself. Still you felt angry heat crawling up your collar bone, reddening your skin with fury.  


“Miss?”, Charles slowly bent over to better face you. “You feel okay?”  


“Yes”, you grumbled and wished you dead. Having this mission here? You could just straight up shoot yourself, that'd be way easier. Chronic hubris – that was what had happened to you and your daydreams. Saving all those who you wanted to stay alive? If that wasn't a tad unrealistic and full of boast you wouldn't know how else to describe it.  


“You don't look like you're okay.”  


“Did you ever just have, like, a real shitty day?”  
Confused you looked at each other, then you politely turned away. What had gotten into you to be so mean to him? He hadn't done anything wrong here. You just managed to show him why to dislike you. Sighing you turned back, facing him, already feeling bad about your unkind words. “Sorry, that wasn't very nice.”  


“Don't worry 'bout it.”  


“Oh, I do. Really. You're so nice and I just shi-... I'm just being spiteful.”  


“Maybe you should sleep a bit before we arrive.”  


_So I should just shut up?_ , you wondered for a moment. The next one you felt rage heating up in you. _Why are they like that? Can nobody lead an ordinary conversation here? There has been literally NO NEED to take me with you. I didn't even WANT to come with you, man. It's your own bloody fault to have lain me onto that wagon. Now you gotta live with my temper._  


“Maybe.” You curled up in the blanket – doing this in the most complicated way there was – and tried to get comfortable on the wagon. Nobody was ever to say that you could only sleep in beds. That would be a shameless lie for you could sleep everywhere if you wanted to. Even on this wain. You've had enough of their conversations – which you knew by heart anyway. You didn't want to spy on them. Right now you felt overchallenged with the situation and yourself. Mainly annoyed by yourself your closed your eyes, hoping for sleep to come soon.  


You just couldn't sleep, as much as you wanted. Thoughts tumbled through your head, leading you to think about your four cats, which you just wanted to pet and have around you. And your mother – you knew she would wonder why you stayed outside for so long now. In a few hours your colleagues would call and ask why you hadn't appeared to work. And what was your mother to say then? Sorry, my kid is lost? She would be alone with the loans and the cats and -  


No. No sleep for you today. Your guilty conscience rived you, you had to distract yourself now. Somebody had to keep you busy. But Charles wanted you to sleep. You could no way do this on your own.  
So you turned around, not hiding the fact you were staring at Charles' boots. Rough, dark and worn out were his leather boots. Very probably he didn't wash his feet daily. That certainly wasn't part of being an outlaw. Would you get him to take off his shoes? 

You bet anything chiropodists would pay to get to see really musty feet. Like, the real deal. The disgusting ones. Though, if you wanted to see that, you probably had to ask Uncle. A silent giggle escaped your lips as you imagined the feet of all the gang members – only thinking about Sean's and Micah's feet you had to gag a bit. It was just, with these two you kind of expected the worst and would still be surprised by how terrible reality could be.  


There was no way you would start thinking about their teeth now. These you kept away from your mind unless you felt really depressed and down. You had to be very careful with fun of that kind – it mostly worked only once.  
Luckily the three men were greeted by Javier at that moment. The Mexican jumped onto the wain, meeting your blatant stare. He stared back, rather confused. You nodded him hello.  


“Nice poncho.”  


“Uh... thanks.” He looked over to Charles. “Who's that?”  


“She's a-”  


“A fortune teller”, you quickly interrupted. You weren't sure of how the others from the group would react to the word witch, although it did describe you well enough. “Hello Javier.”  


Maybe he already regretted having jumped on the wagon but he didn't let it show. Well, he wouldn't have to put up with you for much longer – if you had any influence on your fate, that was. As grumpy as you were, you were just as lazy when it came down to solve problems. You wanted to get rid of them as fast as possible, you had no interest whatsoever in ongoing stress caused by odds and ends. And so you already had worked out an idea of how to deal with all this. To realize it you just needed to get out of their camp on your own, to take care of that from afar. 007 on the loose.  


“Here we are, gentlemen. Home sweet home.”


	4. C'est la vie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang has set up camp and suddenly the questions arises as where you would stand in the group. Who are your friends - and what do you do to get by?

While Dutch praised Hosea to the sky for suggesting this exact spot, you slowly picked yourself up. Still wrapped into the blanket like a burrito you took a good look around. Half the camp was already built up, though it was only early afternoon. Gang members were busy walking around, you could see Mr. Pearson – quite easily to spot with his high hat and his round potbelly – who took care of his wagon, in which all the food was stored. He had successfully roped two of the girls in for the work, too.  


“Gentleman, we have survived”, Dutch said, his voice trembling with pride.  


“For now.” Almost too low for you to hear it, Hosea let this out rather galled.  


“Now it is time to prosper.” The black haired man was not to be disturbed in his good mood. The men from your cart got off it, Charles and Arthur first, Hosea following last, still moving agile despite his age. Apropos, how old was that man? Probably scratching fifty, or just in his mid-forties. Life surely took a toll on people more than it did in your time.  


“Arthur and I were about to prosper in Blackwater. We were on to something big...”, Hosea started to tell Dutch as soon as the leader had sat down. In his stead, you probably would've just started fights with Dutch whenever possible about things like these. “Then Micah got you all excited about that ferry and here we are.”  


“We have all made mistakes over the years, Hosea, every last of us.” Sitting on his chair like a proper chauvinist, legs apart, hands on his thighs, Dutch didn't seem to be all that impressed by his friends discontent.  


Entrance of the unsolicited guest who also happened to hate Micah. So, you. As dignified as possible you stood up, put the blanket down and climbed onto the coach box. Time had come to let them know how much you detested Micah. 

“Mister van der Linde!”, you called out, still halfway cheerful – granting you attention from all corners of the camp. Climbing down the coach you walked over to the table at which the men were. “Mister van der Linde, I may interrupt you.”  


“Actually-”  


“Wonderful. With all due respect, that mistake that had happened here is set on a whole other scale. It has claimed more victims than anything before had. So please don't defend the one responsible for this mess – one has to avow for their mistakes.” And while you were speaking you realized that this maybe wasn't the best approach for this. You should shut up right now if you wanted to survive. What kind of shame would it be, to die not even three hours in this very mild west by getting shot by a louche outlaw?  


“You have no idea about how things went there and you should rather refrain from boasting your opinion”, Dutch immediately snarled back at you. Though, his eyes stuck suspiciously on your bust and your legs. “I kept this group together...” Now he addressed Hosea and Arthur as well. “Kept us alive. Kept the nooses off our neck.”  


Standing with you at the table, Arthur obviously was torn as to whom of you he should stare at strictly. It was Dutch vs. you. Well, most likely it'd be Dutch. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and fretted about only wearing your silky crop top. It made you look less magic and powerful as you wished to do.  


Seemingly offended, Dutch went to his already built up tent – being boss is terrific – followed by Hosea and Arthur.  


“I guess I'm just worried”, the older one tried to calm his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I ain't got that long, Dutch. I want folks safe before I go.”  


“Me too.” Dutch turned around to face Hosea.  


“And now we are stuck, east of the Grizzlies and out of money, and a long way from our dream of virgin land in the west.”  


“I know, my brother, but we are safe.”  


“I'll go bonkers”, you whispered to yourself, leaning against the closest wain so you could listen to the conversation going on. Why did you even want to follow that complete and utter nonsense from Dutch?  


“We make a bit of money here, then we move again. Head out around them, be west of Uncle Sam, in a few months buy some land.” Up to now, it didn't sound all too bad what Dutch had just suggested. You wished for a cigarette. To stub it out in his face.  


“I hope so”, Hosea said, his voice not so stern anymore while Arthur just shook his head. You agreed with both of them, silently and all by yourself.  


“Would you just look around you?” Throwing his hands in the air, Dutch turned around to face the slowly setting sun. “This world has its consolations.”  


Uh, no. There was Herr Strauss coming. You were so sick of him. This Austrian with his small, greedy eyes, his lanky body and these long, slim fingers – he really resembled the one who would surely bug you most if you had were to stay here longer. You decided to not provoke a confrontation – you would just beat him to death with Pearson's iron pot. That wouldn't be a peccadillo and surely not well deemed. 

Markedly without ostentation you snuck around in camp, unavoidably coming across the prisoner. Before they had found you, the gang had caught one of O'Driscoll's men – that poor bastard was now tied onto a tree, slightly malnourished and in a poor general state of health. Your inner wound care manager screamed for high-calorie and protein-rich diet, preferably via tube. As well as physical therapy, that man looked like there'd already been a lot of muscle-loss.  


The more you were surprised as he smiled at you, kinda scared but still politely.  


“You don't got tied to a tree yet?”, he asked as you just stared at him. His dark beard was matted, his dark eyes spoke of approaching death.  


“No. Am just a witch, not an O'Driscoll”, you managed to grin and approached the man. “Wanna have an apple, Kieran?” And why were you doing that now? Undermining Dutch's position like that, feeding his captive. You really wanted to get that bullet into your skull that badly? That way you wouldn't get home at all. Then again, you felt real sympathy for that man in front of you.  


“An... apple?” His gaze was full of hope, staring at you.  


“Or a sip of bourbon, they won't slaughter me for that I guess.” Carefully you glanced around, leaning back to spy out the camp from your position.  


“Y-you... th-that would...” The fact that Kieran was tied to that tree made this whole scene even more pitiful than it already was. One just had to give him something to drink. And while doing that, you could just treat yourself, too.  


“Aight, I'll be back.” You went back to the centre of the camp, looked around and helped carrying boxes for Pearson. In general you made yourself useful, though avoided to force your help onto Arthur, Charles or Hosea. At the moment you had the slogan: Less is more. Especially when it came down to attention towards you.

Unfortunately you ended up at Hosea's side again, just as Dutch ordered everybody to please gather around him and to stop do whatever they were busy with. Boss is talking, so everybody better listen. Even those in the back rows. Particularly them, thinking about it. With your arms crossed – you couldn't endure Dutch's monologues with your arms lose, his words would just stab you merciless without this your protection – you braced yourself for what was about to come. Of course you could just take that monologue from Dutch, just for the fun of it. But a warning glance from Hosea advised you not to do that.  


“I know that things have been though but we are safe now, and we are far too poor. So it's time for everyone to get to work”, Dutch started his speech.  


“Get to work, but stay out of trouble”, Hosea minded to interrupt. “Remember, we are itinerant workers.”  


“Laid off as when they shut down our factory to the north. Now get out there and see what you can find. Uncle, Reverend Swanson, no more passengers.” That sentence at least got him a few small laughters. “It is time for everyone to earn their keep.”  


“There is a town a little way down the track, name of Valentine. Live stock town. All mood and morons if I remember right. That seems a decent place to start”, Hosea went on.  


“And... we need food. Real food. That means every day, one of you”, Pearson chimed in, not completely unjustified. Apropos food – you thought about how you wanted to get some bourbon to Kieran. Now would be a splendid opportunity. On the other hand, these people would probably notice you leave at that point. It's better to be safe than sorry, you could almost hear one of your favourite colleagues say. Well, she was right there.  


Dutch had disappeared in his tent, just to come out of it, in his hands an ominous red box. “And remember, whatever it is that you find, the camp gets its slice.” Dutch said with a wagging finger and a strict undertone. “Now, be sensible out there.”  
The group was about to scatter over the place, as Dutch noticed you.  


“Wait. Come back for a minute. Guys, come here again.” He approached you, which you didn't endorse. No way you wanted to be looked at with these scheming eyes of his. Did that make sense? Probably not.  
Of course all of them turned around or just came back. Being leader is whack.  


“Not all of you have noticed we now host a young lady. This is... this is- excuse me, what's your name again?” Slight confusion covered his face since he didn't know your name. Due to that stressful situation you suppressed the urge to laugh. By no means you had thought of a name by now. How to react inventively?  


“Skuld Fox.” Well, you just could've said Maria. Or Anne. Or, just to cause chaos, Morgan – for Morgan le Fay. Arthur would probably go crazy if people always called his surname as your first name. A shame, you should've done so. But your brain ran on low flame and had spat out the name of the human hating Norne, _c'est la vie_.  


But maybe you would do well to not get emotionally involved too much. Eventually there would only be tears and pain. At the latest when you found your way back home.  


“Well, this is Skuld. A wise man told us about her arrival. She's a... well.. a witch. Who means good luck to us. For the time being she will be part of our group”, he announced. “Tonight we will hold a small party to her joining us.” With that he patted your shoulder and went away. People were staring at you, you were staring at them. Now what does one say after such an introduction? _Hello, you all gon' die?_  


“Hello. It's good to be here.” That sounded way more optimistic than you felt, great. 

“A witch. And Dutch believes such a thing”, you heard a sour voice say – which you knew belonged to Bill Williamson, a soldier who had got kicked out of the army without any honour left. In his opinion loyalty was the only thing that really mattered in this group. You chose to ignore this. If he wanted to fight you verbally, you would be more than willing to take that on. But as long as he didn't pronounce anything like that, you wouldn't be the one initiating it. Though you'd love to.


	5. Joys of languages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some talking in Spanish and I'm already sorry if it isn't gramatically correct. The last time I had to deal with that language was six years ago at college and boy, I have forgotten almost everything about it. Which doesn't stop me from using translator. But if something just is plainly wrong, I'm sorry.

Before you could go on and do some more shady stuff, a woman in her forties approached you. She was wearing a red dress, her brown hair was towering on her head and you felt envious for that hairdo. Very obviously she was stressed out and you would not be able to better that, so much you could see.  


“Miss Fox, it's just nice to meet you. I hope you don't have any reservations. You gotta share a tent with Javier and Charles for the time bein'. And make yourself useful, will ya?” Having said that, she wanted to go away.  


“Ehh... Miss Grimshaw? I'd love to help. But what can I do now?”  


That caught her on the hop. Obviously nobody had ever offered their help like that. If that lady decided to like you, the better. She would keep you in camp, no matter what, except for treachery.  


“Well, what can you offer to do?”  


“I'm a medicore cook. I can heft things around and I have medical training. Though, I don't think that rune reading counts as useful”, you said, grinning. Grimshaw allowed herself a hinted smile – you knew you got her. She took a step back to examine you, then shook her head.  


“Ya cannot walk 'round like that, looking worse than every whore in the cities.”  


“You should see the whores from where I come from.”  


“What?”  


“What?”  


“Well, what do whores wear where you're from? Don't ya come from Blackwater or Strawberry?”  


“I – no. Not at all. Maybe I'm... mixin' up things”, you tried to explain away that slip of your tongue. You would rather not tell her about the red light district you had visited once with one of your friends – out of curiosity – just to get lost there. You had ended in a cathouse, drunk and applying for a job. Nah, telling that story would only trouble Miss Grimshaw into a heart-attack. Maybe you would tell that at the campfire. Though you doubted that.  


“Probably. You're all right shaken up by these our crude men here. But don't worry, if you grow a thick skin, you'll be okay.” She took your arm and pulled you towards a wain.  


“Uh... well... it's not that bad, acutally. Charles, Arthur and Hosea seem to be quite lovely”, you dared to say and grin at the woman at your side. Her expression was best described as horrified. “At least they got manners.”  


“Oh, you poor soul.” She turned away from you and started screaming all over camp that she would now search Karen's clothes for something to wear for you. Karen replied, just as loud and ill-humoured, that this was not okay – which you had to say, you agreed – and that the two of you should rather keep your hands away from her stuff. So you went on, until Miss Grimshaw lighted a cigarette, utterly unnerved. She didn't offer you one. Although you had really earned one!  


“Should I go ask myself?”, you offered, which Miss Grimshaw allowed, followed by a lazy hand gesture towards really anywhere.  


“Just try your luck.”  


“Fine.” 

Determined you went up to Javier, who sat on a stone a bit off, also smoking. There you had gotten yourself in quite a pickle, wanting a smoke that badly. If nobody was to offer you a cigarette you could just stop it right away.  


“Javier.” You sat down, unasked and smiled engagingly. “Miss Grimshaw just told me I'll be sleeping in your and Charles' tent until I get one myself”, you opened the conversation.  
The Mexican almost suffocated on the smoke, coughing until his eyes watered. 

“What?”  


“ _Yo duermo contigo...?_ ”, you slowly said in Spanish. It's been a long time since you had used that language, and it was more than rusty. And the bit you were able to say was probably that awkward you wouldn't even want to know what you just said. But did you care about that? Rather not.  


“WHAT?” Now Javier stared at you full of disbelief, just like you were the tooth fairy, his cigarette hung between his fingers, dead and dull. His beard trembled faintly.  


So, that had been wrong. What did you say? Actually, you had no desire to know. You just wouldn't say it again.  


“ _En la tienda?_ I'll sleep in your tent”, you finally gave in. Spanish D, main point had been to pass the exam.  


You looked at each other for a whole minute, not saying a word, estimating, a tad nervous maybe, too. Then Javier started to laugh, killed his cigarette unnecessarily and patted your shoulder.  


“ _Guapa_ , you just said you want to have sex with me!” He couldn't get a hold of himself, still laughing, wheezing. That would forever be used to make fun of you: _You still know the first thing ya told me was you gonna have sex with me? - Haha_. Yes, very funny. But, actually, quite funny. Really. So you giggled with him, feeling better instantly. Until you thought: Freudian slip or unwanted prophecy?  


“I didn't mean it like that”, you chuckled. Well, maybe you had meant it a bit.  


“What a shock – first Dutch says witch and turns out it's a whore?”  


The two of you continued to laugh away the stress and the awkward situation, after that you stood up and Javier showed you the tent which would serve as your home for the next few nights. If one could call that thing a tent. Much rather it was a flysheet, held up by two strong tree branches – one site of that tent was completely open, inviting everybody to stare at whoever slept there. At least the three other sites were halfway closed.  


“You sleep in the middle, I'd say.”  


“Why?”  


“Why not?”, the Mexican questioned you quirky. Somehow both of you had adapted to a more chummy tone. Well, you for your part – you just liked Javier.  


“Because I don't wanna get farted at from two sites”, you explained your misgiving.  


“Like that we'll keep you warm at night. And I bet we should keep an eye on you, too.”  


“I guess.” You snorted sadly. Javier lust laughed, a throaty sound, patted your back and asked if you needed anything else. “Yes, clothes. You have a shirt for me? Miss Grimshaw says I look like a whore.”  


“Worse.”  


“Yes, thank you.”  


“Come, we'll steal something from... ehh.. . Arthur. Bet his shirts are like dresses for ya”, Javier grinned at you. Then you wandered off to Arthur's wagon, where you proceeded to rummaged through his chest where he had his clothes stored. Though, you felt the slight sting of a bad conscience, smothering it with the knowledge that you hadn't suggested it. How easy it was to put the blame on somebody else. Suddenly you were disgusted by yourself, you hated such behaviour with your colleagues and now – now you did it yourself. Truly despicable. Clearing your throat, you stepped away from the chest.  


“Let's ask Arthur, please. It doesn't befit to go through other peoples stuff.” Your voice was firm while you neatly put back all the shirts you had scattered about the place.  


“Why that?”  


“Well, you know Arthur. I don't. At least I wanna ask him.”  


“Sure. Let's ask him.” Shrugging his shoulders, Javier went ahead, his ponytail wiggling a bit, duping you to grab it. With all your force you restrained from doing that. “Arthur!”, Javier called out as you came close to the campfire. Some of the men sat around it, Charles was playing his harmonica and Uncle was telling some made-up story from his past. After the camp had been set up people now made it a home. Somehow sweet. And friendly.  


Turning his head towards you two, the man with dirty blond hair examined you, his eyebrows furrowing at your sight. Luckily you were used to that kind of stare – it often came along with being unpopular. Not that you were too unpopular in your real life; just getting on peoples bad sites often enough to not be new to that subject. You forced your shoulders a bit down – that straightens oneself and keeps the back healthy – and swallowed your unease. Maybe it got stuck in your throat.  


“Javier?” Arthur was still looking at you since neither of you said a thing.  


“Sklud needs clothes.”  


“Skuld.”  


“What?”  


“The name's Skuld. And yes, she needs 'em.” His eyes didn't catch up to his sarcastic undertone, but you would be damned – you'd wrap this man around your finger. Not romantically spoken; that would be way too exhausting.  


“Yes. I wanted to give'er a shirt from you. Can wear it like a dress.”  


“A shirt of me?” Arthur shamelessly sized you up. “How fat you think I am?”  


_What the fuck_ , you thought. _How fat you think_ I _am?_  


“Not fat, just big.” Javier crossed his arms. “Nobody wants to wear things from Pearson. Or Micah.”  


Thinking about that possibility, you felt the urge to gag.  


“Well I think, what's more interesting is why she's wearing so little”, Micah chimed in, his voice maybe sounding almost gleeful, but still that sentence was full of malice. Already drunk, Bill laughed. Sadly, Charles stopped playing harmonica – as pretty as it sounded, it didn't fit the situation no more. “Maybe she's no... witch. Dutch's been hoaxed to think so. I think she's a loose girl with an unlucky hair colour.”  


“What the blazes is wrong with you all? What's wrong with my hair?” Firstly, Charles had stared at it like a bird had shat on your head, Pearson had shot you curious glances as well and now even Micah was making a big deal out of something so absurd. 

Utterly unnerved you grabbed your scrunchie which had held the bun now for the longest time, you almost ripped it out. You felt your frizzy, long hair fall down to your waist. Long years of attending to your hair, grooming it, obviously had paid off. “Now – long hair. Well, you boys never seen such like that?”  


“Skuld?” Charles gaze was worried. Most likely you had all them red dots on your neck again – stressinduced.  


“What?!”  


Throwing your head to face you, you got a glimpse of something. The hair which swirled around in this movement, that wasn't brown at all. Suddenly your fingers were cold and sweaty, taking one of your hair-strands and lifting it in front of your eyes. In the sunlight pearl white hair glistened. Unbelievingly you stared at it, then grabbed the rest of your hair, pulled it over your shoulder to examine them. White. White. Nothing but pearl white.  


“My HAIR!” That sounded just half as horrified as you actually felt while you were running towards Arthur's wagon to take a look in his small mirror. A superb head of white hair framed your shell-shocked face. What a sight. Well, there was a fist time for everything. But your shock sat deep. Where had gone your perfectly fine brown hair? Why had they to be white in the first place? Everything, you would have understood everything but that. Since you already had so many grey hairs to begin with.  
Entirely out of sorts you went back to the men, placing you at Javier's side.  


“Quite an actress”, Micah laughed heartlessly – he wasn't the one suddenly having a different hair colour, trapped in a different time and dimension. That idiot.  


“Can I please have a shirt from you, Mr. Morgan? I don't really want to freeze”, you said, voice smitten – the more you were surprised as Arthur actually stood up and led you to his wain. Well, you walked together since you knew the way.  


“Forget about Micah, he's...”  


“Yes, I know. He's a jerk.”  


In mutual silence you looked at each other, then he bowed down to open his chest. “I can only offer you that old grey one.”  


“Cordial thanks.”  


“Not for that. Havin' to watch Micah slobberin' over you is disgusting enough.”  


“And now imagine he's looking at you like that.”  


Both of you let out a mutual sound of aversion, then laughed.  


“Where are you sleeping any way?”  


“Susan has sent me to Javier and Charles. They're nice. And I need to be observed.”  


“And you just let that happen?”  


“I gotta.” Pressing the shirt against your breast, you smiled thin lipped. “I mean, what would happen if I just run away? I'll catch a bullet in my head. Besides... if I want to leave, there's nothing someone like me could do easier.”  


“Don't let Dutch hear that.”  


“Dutch isn't supposed to hear a lot.”  


“Dutch is... Dutch. And for now it's best if he likes you.”  


While walking back to the bonfire you put on the shirt. As you got there, first thing happening was you got some comments on your new look since your trouser wasn't visible anymore. But because the shirt was meant to be a dress it served its purpose just well.  


“Thanks for the shirt. I'll be with Miss Grimshaw.”  


“Oh no. We now have our own witch, show us some tricks!”, Micah called out. You turned around, already regretting the decision to look into his face. This alone was just a perfect target. Your final trick would be to help him to an additional hole in his body. In his head, to be precise. This man had not a single good trait.  


“No”, you just said, turned around and left.  


You could hear Micah rant behind you, supported by Bill; but Arthur and Uncle stopped the men from getting up and dragging you back to the fire. A damsel in distress is not to be angered more. Because, what if you just decided to curse them all?


	6. The Secret Pee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going out in the woods has never been so awkward for you, but you slowly get used to awkward and strange. But you won't get used to gross people.

You had lost your way, obviously. Probably already a long while ago, back at your home, but now, right at that moment, surrounded by a gang of outlaws – now you had to realize that a way lost not always meant being on a wrong one. You sat with people. Real people of flesh and blood, who interacted with you, who were aware of you; people who should not exist. Actually a quite easy concept but your brain didn't think so.  


You just could not comprehend that your daydreams would not be about being a cowboy anymore, much rather they would be about patients who call in Monday morning already in the worst of all moods, about your crammed schedule for your studies, about who has to go next buy food for the cats. From now on you would only daydream about the boring stuff. At least that was what you feared would happen. 

The party really wasn't a big deal – it consisted in Javier playing guitar and singing along, accompanied by some of the men who already were drunk; as well as card games and alcohol. It was chilly and you were glad you had asked for that shirt. Though, your legs still felt a bit cold, but close to the campfire it was rather endurable.  


To your left sat Tilly, a cheerful young woman. Her skin had the colour of coffee and looked so healthy and blatantly flawless that you couldn't help yourself but envy her. She wore her black hair as a thick braid, looped around her head. It looked really cute and reminded you of the girls in your area – they wore similar hairdos when it came to annual fairs. Or weddings. Or wine festivals. Or the Oktoberfest.  


On the upset tree-trunk across you – which served as a seat for many – sat Javier, Uncle and Hosea. To your right Arthur and John sat on cases. To Tillys' left was Lenny. The rest of the group was scattered across the camp, some sat on the round table, Dutch was already dancing with Molly O'Shea, the girl of his interest right now. Probably you should join them later, dancing on your own. Just a bit of Shuffle or Jumpstyle. Thinking about how confused these people would be seeing such a dance, you had to grin.  


Around you people were singing saucy songs which you unfortunately didn't know by heart – if you knew them, you could have given them quite a show. Tillys' voice next to you was chipper but pleasant. Mezzo-soprano.  
Everybody here was in such a good mood despite the unfavourable circumstances. Nobody was complaining. Naturally so you started feeling bad as soon as the question, why you were here, occurred in your mind again to torment you. How it could have come like this. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Now you were here and you better make the best out of it. 

But urgent things first. You nudged Tilly.  


“Tilly, uh... where do you go pee?”, you asked silently. No need for everybody here to know you needed to release the water. Unfortunately you were not able to just shut your exits. With dread you thought about the day you had to deal with more than pee – the day you would crouch in the woods and strain until your face would turn red. Terrible. Much rather you would just sneak onto somebodys property to use the outhouse. Which left the question: What did people here use to wipe themselves? Poison ivy? You felt like you deserved exactly that.  


“I need to go, too. Come.”  


The two of you went past Mary-Beth, who of course knew exactly where you were going. Spontaneously she decided to come with you and suddenly you felt like being in highschool again. All girls to the toilets, there's gossip to spread.  


“What an evening. It hasn't been that fun for weeks”, Mary-Beth said as you were out of sight and relatively out of earshot from the other gang members. She smiled shyly at you. “Thank you.”  


“What for?”, you wondered confused. You hadn't been singing with Javier or playing cards with the others – you weren't the one making this evening nice. You had just been sitting around, feeling like counterfeit money and thinking about the unstoppable digestive process of your intestines. You could imagine doing more fun things.  


“That you are here. These last weeks have been bad.”  


“She already knows that”, Tilly chimed in and stopped walking. You were standing between two trees, surrounded by thick shrubs. “We're here.” Already the two girls started to search for a place to pee. You would love to observe one of them, just to see if they digged a hole or not. Or what was used for wiping.  


But before you could ask, Tilly came over again, putting a piece of ragged cloth in your hands. That thing seemed to come from quite shady places.  


“You'll need that for wipin'. You didn't have anything with ya, right?”  


“Y-yes. Right”, you said, smiling thankfully at her. And you really were. That way you didn't need to ruin your ass and pubic area with poison ivy.

So you hid between the dark shrubs and while you crouched down to let go of everything that didn't pay no rent, you doubted you'd even survive just a week in these circumstances. Peeing once in the woods was okay. Twice, too. Being perfectly honest, you could even suffer through defecating here once in a while. _But_ a piece of cloth like you had with you now, that would leave massive wipingtraces behind – best case. First of all it was unhygienic – the wound care manager within turned terribly pale – and second disgusting and third: What to do if you got that shit on your fingers? What then? Where to wipe off unsuspiciously? With what would you wash your hands? No, before you didn't know the exact shit-procedures in this camp you wouldn't be able to touch a thing here again. Everywhere you could see faecal-bacteria sticking.  


Still sunken in unpresentable thoughts you dabbed yourself dry with the surprisingly dry cloth, then you got up again.  


“Where do I put that rag?”, you asked, though you couldn't see the other two. That was probably for the best right now.  


“Take it with you, it'll be cleaned in camp.”  


You stopped yourself from asking _Hot or Cold_. Because you knew. Fighting with rising sickness you blinked at the cloth in your hands. Coldwash, then hung up to dry somewhere. How much different pee was now on your fingers? Right now you only wished to run down to the river, throw yourself in to get washed into the Flat Iron Lake to drown there. These people could probably live with these rags getting cleaned in cold water. You could not.

“What's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost.” Mary-Beth appeared at your side and you couldn't help but stare at her cloth. _The ghost of the germ-infested rags_ , you thought. Still, you did not know enough about laundry-hygiene, you reminded yourself, to run away, screaming like a lunatic.  


“I'm just a bit...” You stopped. What were you? Disgusted? Terrified? Surprised there were no toilets? Dissatisfied? Probably a bit of everything listed. Still, there was no need for wondering at that since you were stranded in the year 1899 and not 1987. Your gaze wandered across the clear sky. Above your heads a pale full moon spilled its milky light upon the land, surrounded by uncountable sparkling stars. How you wished to be in your garden right now, candles around you and swaddled in a light blanket. “I think I suffer from moon-deprivation.”  


Now Tilly joined you again, throwing Mary-Beth a questioning glance.  


“I'd really like to give you some time alone”, the young woman started, cleared her throat and looked away. “But Dutch says you're not allowed to go anywhere alone.”  


“I know.” Shrugging your shoulders you sighed, forcing a smile. Then the three of you made your way back to the camp. While walking with the two, you learned that Mary-Beth counted twenty-three years while Tilly was the camps' baby, being twenty-one. 

Both trusted Dutch's opinion and viewed him as the father they had always longed to have. Both advised you to go and seek talks with him.  
You thanked them for the advice and decided to explicitly not do that. One of you would end with a chopped off head – and that would not be you. And you were quite sure nobody wanted to see you, holding his head up in the air – looking like one of the men on all these metal music disc covers.

Back in camp the girls showed you where to put your pee-rag, then they went to the table where a card-game was played. You had no success blocking out that these cards got touched by pee-hands.  


You decided to settle down near Dutch's tent, from there you could watch everyone and got to hear the classic music which the gramophone vomited out. Some tortured italian lady was singing, probably about love and cheating men – you wished for something different to listen to. Johannes Brahms' Hungarian Dance Nr. 5 would be nice, good to dance to. Especially dancing alone worked with that one; sometimes you liked to dance the Barynya – or, a messed up form of that dance.  


So you sat yourself on the ground, crossed your legs and listened to the laughters, the burps and the music, the crackling of burning firewood.  
Still the full moon shone down from the firmament. Would somebody notice you leaving? Probably, although you were not too sure about it.  


Leaning against a case you stared into the night and missed your cats more than ever. And the food from your mum. And your mum in general. And your sister.  


Performed drama wasn't really for you, but still you imagined standing on the cliff of Horseshoe Overlook, underneath only the scarp and conifers, above just the sky, the stars and the moon. And then you would raise your hands up over your head, tears in your eyes and moonlight would glisten in your hair and you would let yourself fall backwards, your tears wetting the ground.  


Shocked by your own thoughts you stared down for a while. What was wrong with you? Howling has never done any good. For nobody. Merely for that reason you forbade yourself to mutate into a crybaby. Your family were more or less hard-asses, they would manage without your for a while.  


So you started doing what always helped calming you down whenever you did not know what to do with yourself and your existence in general. You started humming. In the beginning it was rather incoherent and not rhythmic at all, but it got better.  


Catching a good mood, you wiggled your head and feet. The howling italian lady was forgotten, in your head you heard lively modern Swing. Growing a bit more courageous you got up again – if anybody dared to ask, you'd just go pee again – and took a bottle of bourbon out of a box which was filled with them. You danced over to Kieran, the prisoner. That poor man couldn't sleep due to the noise.

“Kieran”, you grinned as he spotted you.  


“I thought you'd forgotten me”, the young man sighed. He looked so unkempt and sad. You wondered how they managed with his fecal matters. Because, he didn't really smell nice, but far from exploded sewer.  


“How could I? I got bourbon.” With that, you opened the bottle, took a big gulp out of it and wheezed at the burning sensation in your throat. Then you held it to Kierans' mouth so he could take small, slow sips. Carefully you put the bottle down again.  


“You're an angel”, the brown haired man said and gave you a warm smile. Though, you thought, he better not smile again with these teeth. They looked terrible. How long had they not brushed his teeth? Utterly heinous.  


“Okay, for how long weren't you allowed to brush your teeth?”, you bluntly asked.  


“Wh-what?”  


“Your teeth. They don't look healthy.”  


“Uhh...”  


“Usually tooth care is not what we care about with our captives”, somebody chimed in, unasked so. You knew that voice, it was unpleasantly familiar. “And if yer not careful, shorty, it can become a concern of yours, too.”  


Irritated you snorted and arched your eyebrows in the most arrogant way. Kieran stared at you wide eyed, shaking his head as if to tell you to stop and not lose it. Why did he think you would escalate that easily? Not that he was wrong with that, but that was something you felt not urge to let everybody know so fast.  


“And who asked you?” You halfway turned around to snidely look at Micah. If there was something you were really good at it was giving people a feeling of being inferior to you. For years you had practised that stare in the mirror and test runs with mean idiots in school and at work and at university had helped you to perfection it.  


“Well, yer frightening our O'Driscoll so much he ain't gonna answer ya.” The blond man came closer, beery breath wafted around you. Gross.  


“We were just about to become comfortable.”  


Kieran was only able to look intimidated. But you, you had a glass bottle in your hand – and you were more than willing to use it as a weapon.  


“And how do you become comfortable with fellers?”, Micah wanted to know, his voice rasp, coming even closer to you. His red shirt halfway stuck out of his old, battered trousers so that you could see his pale belly. That man was completely and utterly unappetizing, from top to bottom.  


“I have to insist that you talk to me respectfully”, you suddenly snarled at him. “Besides I've been talking to Kieran here – not you.”  


“Oh, are we a bit bitchy today?”  


_Ignore that bastard_ , you told yourself while letting out a deep breath. _He knows me for only a few hours and in those I've pissed him off and he pissed me off. He thinks I'm a whore and he can take whatever he wants from me. Just put him in his place. Stay friendly and dignified._ You cleared your throat. There was a lot of concentration required to not get abusive towards Micah now. “I'm not here for the fun of it.”  


“Oh, yes.” Now he laughed throatily. “It's not gonna be fun for ya, I'll make sure of that.”  


“P-please, Miss... you should g-g-go t-to the oth-th-others”, Kieran begged silently, his face turning pale while looking at Micah.  


“Maybe so. But maybe Mr. Bell here should learn that _No_ means _No_ and not _Yes_. Though, men like he like to tell that to themselves. Nobody wants to call themselves a rapist, right?”, you rudely grouched towards the disgusting outlaw. And you weren't addressing Kieran Duffy with that.  


“I see it that way... you are safe here with us. Everybody gives something for the camp. You should do that, too.” He clicked his tongue in a rather lecherous way.  


_De-escalation,_ you could hear your best friends voice in your head, as always cautionary. _De-escalation is the key to successful conversation. Except with Nazis and racists._ As much as you knew, Micah was not a Nazi – though you were not so sure about that – but he was a racist. Going on about Charles and Javier and Tilly. Calling them blackie or asking them to piss off. Fucking racist. Your thread of patience was always tense and extremely thin. Every day could be a day for a fight. De-escalation as an option dropped out. But if you just plainly murdered him now the gang would throw you out; in the best case scenario. Worst case meant getting killed, too. So that was no way to deal with him now.  


“Oh, have ya lost yer tongue? Didn't think yer contribution could be that? What can a gal like ya do, anyways, except spread her legs?”  


“ _Utinu en lokirim! Ishkhagwi ai durugnu!_ ”, you screamed at him, completely random and annoyed. If you could not remember anything else, elvish and dwarfish curses and cusses from Lord Of The Rings and The Hobbit always stuck in your brain. At least that sounded dangerously like cursing him. A fresh breeze sprang up, tucking on your clothes, while you grimly stared at Micah.  


At your side Kieran sucked in a deep breath, letting out a small whine, while Micah stared at you, his expression almost petrified – only his jaw dropped.  


“Shut your mouth, there's a bus comin'”, you just commented as some of the half-drunk men hurried to the rescue. If they wanted to safe you or Micah was not securable. You for your part were still seething. That gross man really tried to get in your pants with all available means. Just how much had the other girls to suffer from him? One thing was suddenly very clear: If you had a mission here, it was to annihilate Micah.  


You gave that realization a short thought, if it sounded a bit too drastic. But no. No. Annihilating Micah sounded good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of that part of the story, I had to educate myself on how people used to pee throughout history. Don't worry, I won't hold back with the new knowledge, it's coming in the next chapters


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that you got a place to sleep the only difficulty is to actually sleep there.

“Skuld, what's going on?” Charles, who was still stone-cold sober, wanted to know. His voice calm, not blurry at all. He approached you from where the horses were; parties were not quite his thing so he tended to find some place quieter than the campfire. 

“I heard screaming.”  


“This... this witch wanted to curse me”, Micah stammered angrily, stomping away, offended and debased. Dispelled by a young woman who found pee-hands disgusting.  


“That guy wanted to get in my pants”, you said, still annoyed, clutching the bottle in your hand a tad tighter. Suddenly you weren't as disgusted with Kierans' uncared for teeth, much more had you the thought about Micahs' smegma-genitals gagging.  


At Charles' side stood Bill and Lenny, both willing to protect you. Or as may be necessary push you down to cliff.  
You took a sip of bourbon.  


“Micah's always doin' that”, Bill mentioned. He was drunk for hours now, so what did you expect from him? Concern? Not very likely.  


“Well, if Micah's always doin' that, I'd think about emasculating him as a precaution.”  


Eyes filled with shock stared at you while you took another gulp from the bottle. Why could nobody understand that non-consensual intercourse was no fun at all? Obviously these men were not able to get that – until now nobody has threatened them with a strap-on. Though, that might expand their horizons.  


Just then Javier appeared behind Bill, who still gaped at you. The Mexican quizzically looked at Charles, who seemed in no mood to comment on the situation.  


“Uh...so... that's a bit drastic, innit?”, Bill wanted to know and had to kill his beer in one gulp. To fear, man.  


“Yeah.. I dunno”, you replied, voice dripping with obvious sarcasm. “Probably we shouldn't get to the root of the problem but just ban talking about the abuse. Sounds like a proper plan.” Shaking your head, you apologetically smiled at Kieran and started to leave, as you remembered that you should not hang out alone. You turned around. “Ain't I under supervision?”  
Indecisive glances between men.  


“How about sleeping?”, Javier dared to ask. “It's past midnight.”  


_Nah, can't be bothered to sleep now_ , you thought; but still you nodded acquiescently and followed him to your sleeping place. 

Just slowly your anger fumed away and to drown your feeling of guilt – because you caused a scene – you sipped at the bourbon.  
Between the two warm blankets on the ground a third one had been placed. Yours by any chance? You looked over to Javier who didn't seem to be all too excited himself. Yours indeed.  


“Wasn't very clever?”, you wondered, feeling smaller now that you didn't have to fight anymore. Though you had no desire to talk this through, you knew that communication was an essential thing.  


“Dutch doesn't like seein' his men...”  


“Being put in their places?”  


“ _Sí, preciso._ ” The man sighed, then sat down onto his blanket, which was the one on the left side. He lit a cigarette.  


Clumsily you hunkered down at his side, though on your blanket, greedily staring at the ciggy. Seeing this, Javier arched his eyebrows. Without saying a thing, he handed you the cigarette, lighting another one for him.  


You took a deep drag, full of delight – and almost choked on a cough attack! What kind of infernal weed was that? Your trachea was only used to soft mentholated smoke. Something you had totally forgotten about, being so needy about your bad habit. More aggressively than necessary you kept on smoking, noticing the wary glance with which the Mexican observed you. Most likely he thought that you still were mad about Micah. And he wasn't wrong about that.  


“Relax, Charles doesn't like Micah at all. He'll leave you alone.”  


“Promise?” You held up your pinky.  


Javier just raised an eyebrow, giving you a questioning look. Without speaking you locked your pinky with his and shook your hands. “Pinky promise. A promise is a promise.”  


“Okay.” Javier grinned.  


You released his finger just as Charles approached the two of you; looking far from pleased. In your head the word **botched** gleamed in neon-lights. Different from you, Charles managed to sit down perfectly smoothly onto his blanket to your right.  


Some sort of awkward silence spread across the three of you while the men laid down, getting ready for the night. You were left sitting, smoking on your own. Charles had his back turned to you while Javier faced you.  


Never ever would you sleep on your back, not for all the money in the world. But you didn't want to look into Javiers' face and breath at him, too.  


So you killed your cigarette and laid on your back, looking into the sky, covering yourself with the light blanket. You were supposed to sleep like that? Closing your eyes, you still exactly knew where you were. You opened them again. Merciless nightsky. 

Voices coming from the fireplace and the Italian lady howled again, this time in high F-sharp. Restlessly you turned from side to side, not finding a comfortable position. Everything was terribly strange and you didn't dare to calm yourself down.  


Until Javier opened his eyes again, staring right at you. He was tired and exhausted. You stayed silent, feeling embarrassed. He kept quiet, too. What now?  


“Come 'ere”, he finally said, his voice husky, still sleepy.  


“Ok.” With that you crawled over to the Mexican, then turned so he faced your back.  


“Micah isn't gonna harm you here”, he mumbled, yawned – and put his arm over yours. “Promise.”  


Considering your situation you could be worse off. You liked Javier. And Charles. And they cared for you. Probably they thought you were a bad person – and they wouldn't be all too wrong about it.  


Still Javier just adjusted himself to be your big spoon, in the most chaste way possible; you felt safe and with his warm body close to yours, you didn't freeze at all. There was no hand in your hair, no pushy mouth in your neck. There was just a heavy and warm arm on yours, Javiers' calm breath was barely audible and didn't brush over your skin. Slowly you started to relax, tugged up your knees and wished to snuggle closer to the man behind you. Though, you rather did not do that, it would only imply wrong emotions. Instead you sniffed on his hand, as silently as possible. If if smelled in the least like faeces you had no option left but to bunk off. Fortunately there was no trace of that stench sniffable; there was the smell of firewood, fresh sweat and horse. There definitely was worse than that. You found a comfortable position and found that Javiers' arm fitted extraordinarily well around you.

Your day began while it was still night. You had had the worst dream ever and startled up, though you managed to do so in a halfway dignified way. No need to scare your cats off of your bed, not because of a nightmare. Tired you blinked a few times and tried, to calm your unsteady breath. What a crazy dream. Quite obviously you had been gaming too much, too many hours – everything had seemed so real. Sighing you ran your fingers through your hair and sat up properly. Just then your realized there was somebody laying at your side. And noticed the hard ground under you. You dared a careful glance at your hair, which fell over your shoulders. Distressed you closed your eyes again.  


Not a dream. Clueless you sat there, nibbling on your lower lip. No dream at all. The year was 1899, somewhere in America; you were surrounded by outlaws, half of them probably thought of you as a nuisance. At your sides slept Javier and Charles, quite peacefully so, from time to time a horse huffed. The whole camp was wrapped in silence. Above you gleamed the full moon.  


There was no sense in trying to sleep again. Although Javiers' cosy warmth had helped you a lot, awake was awake. Silently you got up. It was very likely that nobody expected you to be able to move as noiseless like a ninja if you wanted to. For that matter they just needed to ask your mother, who almost every time got struck by a heart-attack because she didn't hear you come into the room.  


You left behind the sleeping place and sneaked around the camp once. Why was nobody on watch? Probably because everybody was wasted beyond borders and the only sober person – Charles – was also asleep. Not very clever. You could just kill Micah here and now and end everything. Stop the disaster before it could unfold. But would that make sense? You weren't willing to die so soon and that would be your destiny if you were to touch Dutchs' favourite boy. Instead of maliciously murdering Micah in his sleep, you slouched down with your blanket at the campfire which was still smouldering. To keep it from dying, you threw some smaller pieces of wood into it and thought about various things which came to your mind.  


At night all these creepy depressing and dark thoughts tended to occur, but it was also the time you were most pragmatic. Of course you could think about your family, your friends and your job. But instead, you thought about the things you would need now. New clothing, especially underwear. A coat and boots. Trousers and shirts. A toothbrush would be nice, too. And a washcloth – or something with which you could clean your face without being afraid of smearing faecal-bacteria onto you. Your gaze wandered to the sleeping people around you.  


Get up and go. Flight forward. _I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of_. That was de Montaigne and you kinda hated yourself for being such a braggart. For every situation you had a fitting saying. Unfortunately always for you, too.  


No, elopement was out of question. No matter where you would end up, a young woman with white hair was quite striking and you'd be found rather sooner than later. Even without the gang suspecting you to be a spy for the Pinkertons, Dutch would order them to go and get you back. Rather dead than alive, to that.  


No, no escape for you. Not yet, at least. Especially without food and water and money. But whence to take if not steal it?  


No mon, no fun. Still you needed to go to the city and at least buy the bare necessities, clothes and a toothbrush. Sighing you tucked your knees up and wrapped your arms around it. The fire was burning a bit higher now.  


You could hear Reverend Swanson breath fitfully, his sleep apnoea would probably drive you crazy on the long shot. Did he finally asphyxiate or would he live on?  


Leaned against a case you listened to the crackling of the wood in the fire, closing your eyes. You imagined the things you had always daydreamt at home, in front of the playstation: These outlaws really like you, you're part of their family, you safe them all from death, there are parties and people listen to you because you're clever, every evening there is dancing, Javier teaches you how to fish, Charles and Arthur take you hunting and you do well (which, honestly, was always the most unrealistic part of your daydreams) and you teach Lenny stochastic just for the fun of it. And after work done you lay on your bed in your room, it's quiet and you hear the others talk and laugh. In that daydream this is your home, you _feel_ at home, in that moment. Everything fits perfectly.  


So far, so utopian.  


And yet you were sitting here, rolled in your blanket, wearing a ragged shirt of Arthur. Not even two days ago you had only addressed him as _Baby Boy_ or _Good Boah_. He was never to know that, or else you'd really end drowned in the Flat Iron Lake. Murdered, then. 

Boredom was nothing for you, but sitting around all alone, tied to that place due to your bad conscience you were bored. Looking up into the sky you noticed a shooting star passing by. What would you wish for? You wanted to get back!  


_I wanna get home! I wanna get home! I wanna get home!_ , you thought as loud and intense as you could so that the shooting star would notice it.  


Unfortunately nothing happened. Just as expected. There your eyes found Javiers' guitar and that somehow caused you to think that he would be able to compete with Juanes – given Javier lived in your timeline. Which he didn't.  


You sighed. The nineties were so far away, too. A time long ago. Wallowing in memories you imagined the kitchen of your childhood, the old radio, the warm summer breeze.  
The radio plays _La camisa negra_.  


You hummed to the rhythm in your head, took a careful look around and found that the coast was clear. Everybody was fast asleep.  
Silently you tapped the beat of the song on the ground and started singing about the black shirt and heartache. Spanish D, _¿Y a mí qué?_ It worked for lyrics well enough.  


Maybe you were taken up in the song. Maybe you had forgotten that people here were on a constant run from the law and were careful about every noise they heard, drunk or not. Sleeping or not. Maybe you got the urge to wear a camisa negra yourself while singing the second refrain.  


Because all of a sudden a heavy hand was laid on your shoulder and stayed there, although you had stopped singing already, utterly confused. The last _Porque negra tengo el alma_ got stuck in your throat as you turned to the person who belong to the hand on your shoulder.  


No one less but Baby Boy. You gulped. Camisa negra all over you.  


“Why ain't ya sleepin'?”, Arthur wanted to know, squatting down behind you, his hips creaked while doing that. His hand was still on your shoulder.  


“I can't.”  


“And that's why ya wake half the camp?”  


You blinked at him. Half the camp? He was the only one who was up right now! “Arthur, one isn't half of twenty-two.”  


He stared at you as if you had just tried take him for a fool. And didn't you just now? Why, though?  


“I know.”  


Luckily you weren't stupid enough to praise him for knowing that. So you remained silent, which was in no way mysterious but only awkward.  


“Go back to sleep”, he said, still calm.  


“I'm awake.”  


“Me too. And I'd like to get some sleep as long as it's night.”  


“No. I'm awake. I'm not tired.”  


Unfortunately that wasn't the answer Arthur wanted to hear, so he helped you up – if you wanted or not was a completely different question here – and led you to your sleeping place. Charles sat there, legs crossed, watching the two of you.  


“Did she wake you, too?”, Arthur asked the other man.  


“No.”  


“Why're you awake then?”  


“I didn't sleep.”  


Scandalized Arthur and you stared at Charles. Why hadn't he warned you to stay silent? You felt peeped on. And Arthur had to be angry. There was somebody like you, causing a ruckus with your singing and nobody stopped you from doing so, he had to get up from his cot – and then it turns out Charles had been awake the whole time and...yeah. And did what actually? Observed or watched you at the fire. That rascal. That voyeur. Yes, exactly. He was a voyeur.  


“Charles, people 'ere try to sleep.”  


“Something else than Skuld keeps you awake”, the black haired man decided calmly, whereupon Arthur grumbled incomprehensible things, turned around and went back to his cot. Charles looked at you, his gaze piercing. “It would be better if you get back to sleep.”  


Not tired, but reasonable, you sat down between Javier and Charles, while the Mexican almost inaudibly snored. A rather cute sound.  


Together with Charles you watched Arthur. Probably only you perceived that as awkward. And since you were forced to be silent and dignified, you started wiggling your feet. You had a bad case of an earworm and it was hard getting rid of it.  


“Why don't you at least try to sleep?”  


Without a word you looked at Charles, your face expressionless. You had the urge to sing at him, just like you did it with friends. Afterwards they always were confused but also a tad smarter than before.  


“It's full moon”, you finally said, shrugging your shoulders.  


At some point you gave in, tired by boredom. Yawning you laid your carcass down, turned your back to Charles and for the rest of the night you were the big spoon for Javier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just a big hoe for the "shared bed" trope and I will write it as often as possible, it's just so comforting


	8. Enchantment and Chores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says "Welcome to family" more than being forced to do chores around the place that you don't really want to do.  
> Things slowly get more strange around you, too.

Obviously you had been sleeping longer this time, for you awoke by something tickling your nose. Shortly after that, you felt it on your left eyebrow. Back to the nose. Reflexively you furrowed your brows and wrinkled your nose. The tickling stopped for a second. Then it came back. It felt like a spider walking over your face.  


That thought forced you to take action. You liked spiders, but not on your face. Slowly you opened your left eye, seeing nothing but orange, white and blue. The colours moved and seemed like painted on velvet.  


“Shhh”, somebody at your side whispered. You recognized it as Javiers' voice. Silently you sat up and gently pushed your index finger underneath the legs of the poplar admiral. The butterfly didn't escape and you grinned at the man left of you. He wanted to say something, but you put your finger with the butterfly on it onto your mouth.  


“Shhh.” With that you slowly brought the poplar admiral towards Javiers' nose. There the butterfly crawled onto the man's face and leisurely fluttered with its big wings. If witchcraft has granted you one thing it was that animals didn't flee from you that fast anymore.  


Behind you there was exited breathing audible, while you bit your lower lip with anticipation, crouching closer to the butterfly. Javier had to cross-eye you to see what was happening.  


“ _Manere_ ”, you whispered to the poplar admiral. It just lazily stretched its wings, but stayed on the nose of the Mexican. Only then you turned around to face Charles, who observed the two of you carefully. A bit across the place Arthur sat on a tree-trunk, his diary in one hand, a pencil in the other. Now that you perceived more things than just the butterfly you could hear Miss Grimshaw shoo people around and Dutch talk to Hosea.  


“Mornin'”, you greeted into the general direction of just anybody passing by. Javier still stared onto the butterfly and didn't dare to do a thing.  


“Good mornin'”, Charles replied, his face a neutral mask, as always. “Seems like the butterflies took a liking on you.”  


“It's one.” You pointed at Javiers' nose. “And I got rid of it.”  


“Not long ago there were five.”  


“And who scared the others away?”  


Nobody said a thing and that was answer enough for you. Most likely Micah had passed by, had tried to be funny or rude by trying to catch one of the butterflies. That lousy criminal. Your gaze wandered off to Arthur, who noticed and looked a different way, then back to Javier and the poplar admiral.  
Gently you let the butterfly crawl back onto your finger and held it in front of your mouth, whispering conspiratorially at it, then you let it fly away.  


“ _Increíble_ ”, Javier murmured, touching the tip of his nose.  


“Good morning, Miss Fox!” Miss Grimshaw stepped into the sunlight in front of you. “Are ya finally awake. And I was afraid we'd have to bury you. Get up. There's a lotta work to be done.”  


“Okaaay.”

It turned out that the hard work waiting for you was feeding the chickens, getting the campfires burning and getting that huge old pot cleaned. None of these tasks overstrained you mentally, causing you to get exhorted to work faster and to be more attentive to what you were doing.  


While at it, you named all the chickens, cute old names like Ilse, Hannelore, Elfriede or Ingeborg. The rooster, you decided, would go by the name of Esteban – swaggering around, its ridge swollen; that animal had attacked you fiercely while feeding it, it had to have fiery blood in its veins.  


You escaped with a few scratches on your legs and the knowledge that the chickens were absolutely overfed today.  


The fires, instead, were started easily, you didn't even need half an hour to get the two campfires going. Foresightful as you sometimes were, you placed some logs not too far from the fires so that they could be fed without getting up for fetching wood.  


Still you sweated, working in the mild spring sun, causing you to take off Arthur's shirt, putting it aside. The men of the group were out, somewhere, you didn't know where exactly. Repairing stuff, hunting, scheming plans. Probably keeping their ears open.  


Lost in your thoughts you took the cast-iron pot from the hook and dragged it to the big water tub. Miss Grimshaw had allowed you to use the leftover water for cleaning the dishes and tableware. The scattered spoons, bowls and plates had already found their way into the tub and after cleaning them you had set them on the table to dry. You just hoped that there was no cold pee-water in the tub. Because that would be highly gross.  


While scrubbing burnt in food out of the pot with a rather unexpedient rag, you thought about how to get some money. Just working in camp didn't help in that matter.  
You figured you would have the best chances by offering services as a fortune teller and charge a lot for that. Thing was, you did not want to do that. You had no desire sitting around, playing Madame Mysterious.  
On the other hand, you would not want to be a whore or wash hotel guests while they took a bath and present them your cleavage. And most certainly you did not want to murder somebody for their money.  


Grumpily you bent down to get to the really disgusting burnt lumps of whatever-that-was off the bottom of the pot. Pearson would never recognize that thing again once you were finished with it, clean as new.  


Just then somebody behind you whistled, causing you to turn around. There were Hosea and Lenny, staring at your legs. Or your back.  


“What's up?”, you gruffly asked – different from the other tasks, you had quite a time pressure with the pot, after all folks wanted to get some food in the evening.  


“We just were admiring the drawings on your legs”, Hosea said. “Would you allow us to come closer to study them?”  


Had they never seen tattoos? You faltered in your action. Most likely they hadn't. Tattoos were not yet fashionable for white people and were only worn by indigenous people. Hosea would be quite out of sorts once he came to see the tattoo of a deer you had on your right side.  


“I don't mind, go ahead.” Shrugging your shoulders you turned back to work on the pot. Unmoved by the men you scrubbed on and wished for some good old Ata scouring powder.  


“Impressive.” You could hear Lenny's astonishment as clear as daylight. “What do these signs mean?”  


With that he surely referred to the three lines of rune-text which you had tattooed right underneath your left buttcheek. Your trouser was definitely too short. Inside your right upper arm you had the word ADRUT, also in runes. But they hadn't noticed that by now.  


“These are runes, graphic characters from north Europe.”  


“What do they mean?”, Hosea wanted to know.  


“I am magic, I am light, without dark one can't see stars shine bright.” Turning around to the two men you smiled politely. “Any questions?”  


“Is that removable?” Lenny couldn't hold back his curiosity anymore, his dark eyes gleamed with excitement.  


“It's not”, you grinned and threw the rag into the pot. “Look.” You took off your right sneaker and your sock. On the instep was a tattoo of the vegvisir, a runic compass, which actually should preserve the bearer of it to lose their way. So much for that, really. On your left foot you wore the aegishjalmur, a protective rune, keeping the warrior from being injured in battles. Unfortunately you really loved tattoos and you never grew tired for getting new ones – provided you had enough money and place on you.  


You spat on your thumb and rubbed the spit onto the tattoo. Of course it didn't smudge, but Lenny's eyes grew even bigger.  


“That's quite fascinating”, Hosea decided. “Can you feel it when you rub over your skin?”  


“Barely, if at all.”  


You knew what was bound to follow.  


“Would you mind me touching it?”  


“Sure, go ahead.”  


Not a second later two hands – a young one and a middleaged one – were feeling your spat on instep, commenting their amazement. So soft the skin, the lines not palpable at all and such a delicate foot in general. Should you ask them to show their feet in return? Biting back a grin, you decided to delay that until you had a really bad day.  


“Thank you very much.” Lenny and Hosea returned to what they were doing, went their way and left you to scrub the pot again.

Meanwhile the sun was heating up the skin of your back and you started sweating. While going against the dirt, you started entertaining yourself. But since people were walking around, soliloquies were out of question. So you started doing what probably made Arthur see red. You sang a bit for yourself. This time a true classic – _Stand by me_.  


You laid the pot onto its side so you could reach in better while sitting. And while wiggling your feet and your head to the rhythm. A shame nobody here knew these songs, though they did not exist yet. You should really teach Javier to play and sing these songs, so he could perform them at the campfire.  


Scrutinising you inspected the innards of the pot. Seemed to be clean. So you went to fetch fresh water. With that you wanted to rinse out that cast-iron monstrosity before you'd give it back to Pearson.  
With the bucket filled with water you started the song all over again, dancing over to the pot.  


Well, maybe you treated yourself to a one-woman-show, consisting of you and the bucket, directly behind the wain of the women, close to some horses which wiggled their ears.  
Just as you assuringly sang about that you would not cry, not even shed a tear (of course only due to the lyrics), Charles appeared in your sight. He was carrying a huge hay bale for the horses. Confusion was painted over his face as he watched you – and you noticed him doing so, looking back at him.  


You felt urged to get back to work, silently you walked past Charles, which he luckily left uncommented. He just continued with his work, too. _My, how shy and uncommunicative can a person be_ , you wondered, staring at the huge man. Hello, he could have sung along. Or at least smiled at you. But you were aware that these things took their time to happen. The smiling-thing.  


As the pot was finally clean to an extend you were satisfied with it, you dragged it back to the small fireplace, put it there and then went to Pearson. He was in the middle of talking to Dutch, obviously they had certain conflicts of interest, whatever they were talking about. Of course one was not allowed to call that an argument. At least according to Dutch.  


That man couldn't stand you anyway, so there was nothing hindering you from interrupting the two men.  


“Excuse me”, you forced yourself between them. “Mr. Pearson, the pot is clean. Is there anything else I can help you with?”  


“If you're done with work, you come to me. I will find some occupation for you”, Dutch advised before the cook could even start forming a sentence in his head; though he seemed quite glad about the news you had brought.  


“Fine. I'm done with the pot. Is there anything I can help with, Mr. van der Linde?” As long as you were excessively friendly towards him he could not reproach you. Although you had already proved that you were a master at being self-defeating. There was no need for an angry man to worsen your situation.  


“The chickens need to be fed.”  


“Already done.”  


“Are the campfires burning?”  


“For an hour now.”  


Dutch threw you a short, scrutinising glance, as if to check if you were lying or not. “The horses need fresh hay.”  


“Mr. Smith was feeding them a few minutes ago.” You probably should change your career from doctor to radio host. Or announcer at an airport.  


“Miss Grimshaw!” So since he couldn't find an occupation for you, he needed somebody else to get one for you. While waiting for the first lady of the camp, you did your hair up to a messy bun.  


“What is it, Dutch?” There she was, as always appearing from some shady corners, completely unseen by you. She saw you standing around but didn't even flinch. Why would she? “Are ya done with the tasks?”  


“Sure.”  


“Miss Grimshaw, is there anything else our new member can do?”, Dutch asked, voice dripping with courtesy.  


But she could not come up with something. So you took the chance and asked if you were allowed to walk freely and maybe leave camp for a few minutes. Dutch then told you that you, indeed, were allowed to walk around since this place was not a prisoners camp.  


So you grabbed Arthur's grey shirt, waved Tilly and Abigail _See ya later_ and hurried out of camp as fast as your feet carried you.  
_Luckily_ , you thought, _I know the map by heart_.


	9. Pseudonym No. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In your former life a walk through the city had always been nice, fun and filled with laughters (especially while sitting in small cafés with your friends). But nowadays it was more like... avoiding mud and idiots. Nothing much to laugh for a witch like you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm sitting at home, sick with a nasty cold, I'm able to translate quite a bit. I hope this makes up for the time I won't be able to do so!  
> So this chapter is sooo long, I'm sorry!

Marching down the hill to Dakota River took you about ten minutes, if not less. You were almost running.  


The river was laying shallow and calm in its streambed, making it easy for you to step onto the sandy riverside without getting washed away. Hastily you took off your shoes, socks and all your clothes until you stood there, only wearing your not matching underwear. Staring at the clear, blue water, glistening in the sunlight you couldn't even doubt this decision to have come here. You desperately needed a bath or a shower – but since you had no chance using one of these without money, you needed to take what you could get. So, bio-bath it was.  


Without thinking too much about it, you jumped into the river, gasping as you plunged into the icy water. The ground of the river was just half as sandy as you had hoped, sharp stones stung your feet and you tried to not step on them too much. Shivering a few meters up and down the river, you rubbed yourself with your hands to stay warm.  


Standing shoulder-deep in the freezing cold water you suddenly felt a certain and unwelcome loo-urge. Please, no. You tried to ignore that feeling, just as realization hit you. You were standing in a river. Water was flowing, not standing. Bio-loo, so to say. Oh, how distasteful you felt.  


After you had pulled up your undies again – you did that quite embarrassed – you got out of the water. At least you had saved a rag from getting dirty. Heaven forbid somebody had come by and seen you! You didn't even dare imagine that.  


Ice-cooled you arrived at the riverside, shivering wildly. With just a tad of luck you'd catch a cold, causing the gang members to be forced to care for you. That way you would avoid work, too. Though, it had not been all too bad.  


Glancing around you could not see a single person, so you grabbed Arthur's shirt and rubbed yourself dry with it. That thing was closest to a towel you had. You desperately needed fresh underwear.  
But you refused to strip completely, so you put on your clothes, ignoring the fact that your underwear was dripping wet. Barefooted, with sand sticking to your feet, you felt no desire to put on your socks or shoes, so you took them in your hands to carry them.  


Being freshly flushed out by the river you instantly felt better and you considered going to town right away. But would you want to go that far? Alone? Posing a great prey for bandits and rapists, being at their mercy? There was a difference between stupidity and bravery and you knew it.

Accordingly to your knowledge, you walked back to camp; where you were expected, apparently.  


Standing with his arms folded in front of his tent, having everyone staring at his back, Dutch did not seem to be in the best mood. As much as you could tell from his body language.  


As you came within earshot, he loudly cleared his throat. And you wondered if you had just decided to nap for an hour or two, would he have waited with harrumphing at you?  


“Miss Fox, why did you leave camp in such a hurry?”, he asked, turning his tall body around in the most dramatic way. His brown eyes flashed at you and told you that this place was, indeed, a prisoners camp.  


“Private matters.” _Besides I'm soaking wet, you nutcase. Open your eyes, damn._  


“If you behave like that, we cannot trust you.”  


“Just earlier you told me that I am allowed to walk freely and that I'm not a captive”, you bravely held against this man who towered over.  


“You are not a prisoner, but there are rules in this camp. And you should stick to them, too. So we can trust you.” He would love to roast you right here, you knew that, but you were clever and that really pissed him off. That this time he wasn't able to twist your words. Best would be to just let him talk for a while. Probably he would change his mind, declare you stupid and underestimate you. A tempting thought.  


“Aight, what are these rules?”  


That caught him on the hop. Nobody asked for the rules, they were just followed. And you had just missed, asking somebody for them. Not a single person had crept up to you in the middle of the night, murmuring them into your ear.  
The leader of the group wrinkled his nose, as if in real thought this time. But he could not fool you. Yes, your opinion on Dutch was kept within rather tight limits, meaning you didn't think highly of him.  


“My decisions won't be questioned in camp”, he suddenly started talking. Coming closer to you, Dutch tried to be more intimidating, taking up more space than he already did. “We trust each other. That makes us strong. I need my people strong, else the plan will not work out. Everybody shares what they earn. Everybody. Nobody cops out.”  


“Got it. What happens if I don't wanna be part of the group no more?”, you went on asking. To you, Dutch was just so unlikable, you had to torture him verbally. Theoretically you could just ask him how you could earn money for the gang, making yourself useful – but who would want to do that when instead, you could incur Dutch's hatred?  


“Traitors get shot.”  


“Yeah, well, but I haven't betrayed nobody. We never trusted each other to begin with.”  


“You could give our location away to the Pinkertons.”  


“But earlier you told me that this is not a prisoners camp and people can leave as they like.”  


“Miss Fox, your situation is different.”  


“Mhm.” You felt no urge to big talk at him now, rather save that. Nobody liked smartasses. “So, how can I earn money for the group? I really need new clothing and a toothbrush; I wanna be able to buy that by myself.”  


“Earn money? You?”  


“Yeah, what else?” You looked at him, provoking as can be. “You bet I won't wash dirty laundry all day long and cut apples. I don't mind that for a few days, but I can't just sit around all the time.”  


“Well, Mister Strauss is heading to the town anyway... he could take you with him and you search for a work.”  


Uch, no, rather not. You didn't feel like Strauss over noon. But on the other side, he had money with him. And you would get to Valentine. So you agreed on that and waited for the old loan shark.

You went for an extensive walk through Valentine, greeted the red-faced and blood-smeared butcher who had his booth at the corner of the hotel and fancied a small talk with him – about the quality of the meat and who brought the best game to him. And what requirements he had to allow somebody to supply him.  


Maybe you could go hunt something and earn some money with that. Provided one of the outlaws taught you how to shoot and hunt. Though, you would just need a bow and arrows; in your youth your cousin – who was a high staking member of the local shoothing association – had shown you how to use it. If you managed to apply your knowledge – that was a whole other question. You would need to practice, that for sure.  


Just across the stables, at the corner of a house being built up, you had sighted Mr. Downes, having some sort of charity box with him. Maybe you ought to have a talk with him. Advise him to absolutely not talk to Herr Strauss. You should talk to him. No, you had to.  


While you walked the few meters to the still unfinished house, you remembered your long, lifeconsuming mental breakdown and the many others afterwards, caused by that damned game. If you didn't manage to stay calm in front of the TV while playing, just how would you feel living through this for real?  


Never in your life had you experienced less desire to know something like now.  


And since you had no problem whatsoever to talk to strangers – for job-reasons alone, so to say – you soon after found yourself facing Mr. Downes, a slender man in dirty trousers and a striped shirt. His eyes were bloodlined and lay deep in their holes. He seemed downright exhausted, even looked feverish. Somehow he was pale. Would you get, without knowing it beforehand from the game, that he suffered from tuberculosis? Would you have been able to tell? Not very likely.  
If he had a real bad cough with bloody phlegm – these things you would have grasped immediately. You just hoped he would not sneeze or cough at you.  


“Hello, Sir”, you said politely – that behooved. With that you interrupted him doing some bagatelle-activty.  


“Oh...oh, hello.” Looking at you surprised, he answered your approach. His voice was rough and weak. His breathing was more strained that it should be and you thought about how his lungs probably looked right now. Being a student of medicine sucked really, you could imagine everything all too detailed.  


“I see you collect money?”  


“Y-yes, indeed I do. Would you like to donate, Miss?”  


“I'd love to, but I'm short on money, too”, you said, an apologetically smile gracing your lips. “What do you collect for?”  


“For people in need.” He fumbled at the box. Nervously. Waiting. Would you take it away from him?  


“May I assume you're also in need?”, you went on, inquiring people was kinda fun to do and he answered your questions all too willingly. Herr Strauss certainly tried to force a loan onto some poor feller.  


“Well...yes..uhm... you're not completely wrong about that. What's your name, Miss?”  


_No way I'm gonna say Skuld again_ , you thought. _That's waaaay too dubious and mysterious and absolutely a no. He has to forget the name immediately._  


“It's Nancy.” You smiled. “And you are?”  


“Thomas Downes. Pleased to meet you.”  


You shook hands – you reminded yourself to wash your hands later – and were delighted on account of your new acquaintance.  


“What brought you to Valentine, Miss Nancy?”  


“Honestly? I came here by accident. My ol' aunty wanted to sell me to the circus, so I ran away.” _Lie, lie, lie, the truth's not gonna die_ , you almost heard your sister joking. She had chosen a completely different path if she was here in my stead.  


“To the circus?” Mr. Downes eyed you from top to bottom.  


“It's nothin' one can see”, you explained. “But rather something one can never see. I'm a fortune teller.”  


“A fortune teller?”  


“Yes. And I'm sorry you're sick”, you went on. The man warily looked at you. You stopped him doing that with a wave of your hand. “I can understand you. Nobody believes me; until, that is, things I said start happening.”  


“No.. that's not it... how do you know I'm sick?”  


“Well, that's part of being a fortune teller, isn't it? I know such things. You've got the tuberculosis for quite a while now, right?”  


“Yes, but... please, keep quiet about it.” He turned around and coughed into his sleeve. Exemplary. “So far nobody knows.”  


“Okay. May I give you some advise, Mr. Downes? Instead of alms, so to say.” Nonchalantly you opened the box and realized that it was practically empty. A shame. “Though, I reckon you'd rather have those alms.”  


“My situation's not your fault at all, Miss Nancy.” He looked down, abashed, then back to you. “What's that advise?”  


To increase the dramatic effect you put your hands onto his shoulders and locked eyes with the man. “In near future you'll encounter a man with a german surname. He will offer you money. Money with which you can feed your family. Don't take it. For the best of you and your family.” In his eyes you could see only big question marks – but as a fortune teller you wouldn't say any more. Would you let them know you knew every detail, they'd stop believing in you right away. Or accuse you of manipulation.  


“B-but...”  


“No, listen, Mr. Downes. Don't take the loan. Even if it seems as the easiest way. We will meet again, soon so. Then I will donate a bit”, you decided, nodded at him and waved him goodbye.

With fast steps you went back to the saloon. There your ride was already waiting for you, impatiently so. Politely you thanked Hamish for waiting and climbed onto the cart. The wood was prickling your bum, which was – due to the short trousers – quite bare. With long trousers this wouldn't be that uncomfortable.  


But you were glad to have talked to Mr. Downes, Herr Strauss could have been there before you – so that was a point for you.  


As if he'd sniffed that you were ready to go, the loan shark appeared and climbed up to you, carefully holding his leather briefcase.  


“And? Got some success?”, you asked, as nicely as you could manage.  


“Quite so”, he smiled. That was a tad creepy and you cringed. How could anybody feast on the misery and despair of other people like that?  


“Herr Strauss, I know you do this for the camp and all... but do you take constructive criticism?”  


The cart jiggled you slightly from side to side and you wondered if it was okay to just throw that man off now, so that he would get run over by the cart. That, of course, would be very rude, but reflected your character in the most accurate way.  


“Not now...!” He was highly nervous. You dropped the topic, then.  


Maybe you had the worst part done, with warning Mr. Downes. You just had to wait for the perfect opportunity to exterminate Micah.  
Life sometimes could just be so good. Grinning you crossed your arms behind your head and wondered, for how long you would have to stay here. If you managed to keep the pace with things, your mission here would be fulfilled within a few days. One could say what they want, whatever you started you finished fast and thoroughly. Sometimes a tad roughly and with lacking empathy, but still as expected.

As you got discharged quite a way from camp, Herr Strauss and you walked side by side for a while, tight silence on his part. You dared to bet he had not forgotten your question from earlier. And he was angry he had to pay old Hamish. Haha. Clenching his briefcase in his arms as if it was the anchor in his miserable life; and maybe that thing really was that. You sighed.  


“Herr Strauss – now nobody's listening.” You glanced over at him. If you did not want to be impolite, you had to slow down to his pace. That meant a lot of time spent together before you would reach camp again.  


“Well, Miss, I know.” The old wimp didn't look at you, his chin trembling insecurely.  


“So? May I comment on your kind of work?”  


“Listen.” Herr Strauss stopped walking to intensely stare at you. In his gaze was no friendliness, only distrust and disregard. “I cannot stop you from telling me about your moral values. Fact is that I earn money for the camp, legally. I-I know persons like you and I am not eager to … to rely on your charlatanism as financial source.”  


Baffled you looked at the man. That caught you off guard and hurt in your tiny, cold heart. Did he really think you would want to sit down somewhere in Valentine and let everybody know you were a fortune teller? Did he think you wanted to make money like this? How stupid did he think you were?  


_Stay calm_ , your friends voice warned you in your head. She had always a admirable attitude towards people she thought of as idiots. _He doesn't know you and has no idea what to do with you. Don't give him reason to really dislike you. More than he already does._  


“Well, aside from the fact that you know about the moral worth of your _work_ , I wanted to say something different. As I said, constructive criticism, not destructive”, you took a verbal swipe at Strauss. Difficult words always sounded fancy if it came to talking to wannabe-braggarts. “I wanted to suggest to you to find another way of earning money for the camp. With your knowledge of finances and book-keeping you could check and control books of rich, influential people. For high salary, of course.”  


Now it was his turn to stare at you, completely bewildered. Without answering he decided to walk on, his briefcase now almost exploding from the pressure, his head underneath his black hat very red.  


Lazily you strolled behind him. Who to intimidate with your intellect next? Dutch? No, he would only start a fight with you.  


You let Strauss have a lead of about seventy meters. Obviously nobody had rammed the fact that you shan't go unsupervised into him. These clowns. First nagging about you leaving and forbidding that for you and then they didn't tell your companion. INCOMPETENT. But in your favour.  


You kept your easygoing pace behind the loan shark and allowed yourself to dive into your thoughts. These circled around the question what you would do next. Or if you wanted to something. You knew that in the game now a time lapse of two weeks would happen. What should you do in this time? You could not piss off these people every day a bit more. Besides – two weeks?! You wanted to get home as soon as possible. This day was the first one unexcused from university.  


Absently you muddled your hair into a bun and scratched your butt. That wood had really caused some itching.  
You could just go away now. Take a look around.  


There an idea hit you. A wonderful, clever and very risky idea. The gang had left behind a shitload of money in Blackwater – since they were wanted there, dead or alive, none of them could return there to get it. But you, you were not wanted. No bastard knew you. But where was the money hid? It was never mentioned in the game.  


You decided to use some of your witch-attitude to work that out. For that you just needed something from Dutch; his hat, his watch – anything, really.  
They would be so surprised. Grinning you followed Herr Strauss to the camp.


	10. Jukebox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although you try to safe some cowboys and get some money with you witchcraft, you still can't help but enjoy campfires.

Having arrived there, Herr Strauss headed straight away to his small desk to write down everything important into his debtor-records. Hopefully he felt terrible while doing so.  
You took a completely different direction, strolling over to Hosea and Arthur who sat at the table in the middle of the camp. Sunlight glistened in their hair and the warm temperatures made them seem happier than they'd been on the cart just yesterday.  


“Gentlemen, how do you do?” Unasked you joined them, sitting down and eyeing them.  


“Miss Fox.” Turning to face you, Hosea mildly smiled at you. “I heard you've been to town already.”  


“Yeah, only mud and morons”, you grinned in return.  


“Oh look at you, somebody's been listenin' to ya”, Arthur joked sarcastically, lighting a cigarette. You didn't dare asking for one. Some day he would offer you one, too.  


“I got a request, Hosea. You got a map?”  


“Sure. Why do you need it?”  


“I'd like to know where exactly I am”, you shamelessly lied. Acting classes in middle school, no grades but with after-effect.  


So Hosea got up – because he was well raised and knew how to behave decently towards a lady – leaving Arthur and you to stare at him going to his sleeping place to search his things for the map.  


“I thought you knew where yer at?”, the man at your side asked, sharp-witted as he was. He looked at you, not completely free from distrust. The almost shabby leather hat on his head threw dark shadows over his eyes.  


“How would I know that?” Innocent gaze while pouting.  


“Thought that's part of bein' a fortune teller.”  


What followed was a short estimation of each over the table.  
His greenish blue eyes met yours, none of you backed down.  


“I dunno if I can trust you”, you finally said. Arthur was in such a way loyal to Dutch that you would rather not tell him your plan. If it went down the drain, it'd be better nobody knew about it. What if you told one of the gang members and it didn't work out and Dutch came to know about your stunt? You wouldn't want him to take his wrath out on somebody uninvolved. No, not by all means.  


“Well, I don't know that neither.” He allowed a small, husky laugh.  


Luckily Hosea returned there, handing you a folded map. “There you go, Miss Fox. I hope that helps you.”  


“Oh, most definitely. Thank you.” Straightforwardly you took the yellowed paper and went to hide behind Strauss' tent – there were a few rocks which protected you from nosy glances.  
There you took your time to unfold the map and take a closer look at it. It was quite similar to the map from the game. Blackwater was marked, too. Hosea had drawn crosses besides Blackwater and Colter. Apparently he denoted places where people of them had died. A rather sad fact you didn't want to know. This was bad enough. No need to make it more heart-wrenching. And here you were, feeling guilty for joining the group too late to safe Davy.  


Back to Blackwater. You needed to concentrate. The town was not big by all means, not very special – which just came in handy for your project. You knew that Dutch had hid the money – or Gold, who knew – a bit out of town. But you had no intention of digging over the whole place. That would be minimally suspicious.  


You took a look around the ground where you were sitting. There had to be something you could use as a pendulum. Running your hands over the grass you felt the lukewarm ground. There. Beside your right buttock. A small stone. Picking it up you sighted it. Irregularly oval – and with a hole in it. If that wasn't a good sign, you wouldn't know any better. You had found your pendulum.  
You put the map into the side of your waistband, now dry again, and buried the stone at the side of a lonely marigold. That way you'd find it again, in the meantime it would get cleansed through earth and warmth.  
Determined you went over to Mary-Beth. She surely had some thread or cord left for you to use. Together with Karen and Tilly she sat at the girls wain, sewing something. Tilly was cleaning laundry while Karen was smoking.  


“Hey girls”, you greeted them and kept your distance, far from just sitting down and joining them.  


“Hello.” In unsion and clearly appraising. Understandable, you were new and had hardly talked to anybody up to now. You wouldn't like yourself neither.  


“I just wanted to ask if one of you has a thread?” You smiled and caught a halfway dismissive glance from Karen. She was the only one who had approximately your age  


“Sure. Why do you need it?”, Mary-Beth wanted to know while already going through a small wooden casket.  


“Well, not for sewing.”  


“Come, sit with us. Drink somethin'. Tell us where yer from.” Karen patted the ground to her left, inviting you, which you declined with a soft shake of your head. Though, you would love to just chill with them. There would be another time for that.  


“Thank you, another day for sure.” You took the thread Mary-Beth held out to you, then you hastily walked away from them.  
Arriving at your sleeping place you wrapped the thread around the map and put it behind your blanket so nobody would see it. Now you would just need a personal object from Dutch. That was a bit harder to obtain, but not impossible. Maybe you could steal something from him while he was delivering a speech to the gang. Or while a party was held. Something like this.

Two overly boring and workful days later people almost were used to you; in all secrecy you gave Kieran bourbon and tea to drink. You had managed to avoid Micah as much as possible, though he had been stalking you. Yeah, he deserved extermination.  
The evening was tepid, the air was heavy with uprising summer, warm and damp. In the sky small, think clouds hung idly, halfway covering the waning moon.  
Sitting around the campfire, the group listened to Javier play the guitar, it was a calm piece tonight. You were crouching on the ground, between the legs of Hosea an Arthur who were sitting on the tree trunk behind you. You had your hands in your lap, enjoying the peaceful mood.  


Though, you had to admit at although some people were talking with each other, the atmosphere was not really bad, but also far from terrific.  
Something positive had happened in the meantime: Mary-Beth had been willing to give you one of her briefs, so you could change every day. That girl deserved all the praise in the world.  
You leaned back against the tree trunk, pulled your legs closer, clenching your knees. Closing your eyes you blanked out the people around you and the music, in your head you heard your music, definitely explicit and nothing for a lazy evening with outlaws. Especially with Micah sitting across you, eyeing you like a piece of premium meat, fresh from the butcher.  
You decided to ignore him and enjoy the warmth of the fire and softly wiggled to the beat in your head.  


“What'cha listening to?”, Arthur teased, probably because you had jostled against him due to your very limited dancing-possibilities.  


“Something that'd turn your face red in an instant”, you grinned, eyes still closed.  


“Is that so?”  


“Don't challenge me”, you advised him, still in a good mood. “You got no idea what you'd get yourself into.”  


“How about a game?”, Tilly suddenly suggested, looking at the others eagerly. She had no idea she had just saved the innocence of many with that question. Had Arthur let out a few more comments and teasings, you would've gotten up and had performed _Oops Oh My_ from Tweet ft. Missy Elliot in front of everyone. Except little Jack. That boy luckily was already in bed.  


“Which one?” Of course the youngest man, Lenny, had to ask. Most likely he was bored too, between all these old folks who had no idea of fun anymore.  


“Oh...” Tilly looked about the place, thinking. “Someone got any ideas?”  


“Spin the bottle”, you prompted immediately. Everybody could – and would – lose and get exposed. What a great diversion. “But only if everyone's older than 18.”  


“Excuse me?” Hosea looked at you, a bit too horrified for your taste, just like Dutch and, well – everybody. You returned that gaze rather unfazed. “What's spin the bottle?”  


“Wait – you don't know that?” Probably that grin on your face turned out more diabolic than planned. These guys were so innocent. Why did you want to change that for the worse? Just because you had nothing better to do? Most likely. Because, a nice game of cards was sometimes fun, too. Yes, playing cards with pee-hands. Indeed you had managed to get into the river for every loo-matter up to now, though you were afraid that this wouldn't work for much longer.  


“No... how are the rules?” Mary-Beth and Tilly crouched closer to you.  


Antisocial as you were, you grinned, leaned your elbows onto the knees of Hosea and Arthur and spread your half-bent legs a bit more. “It's very easy. We just need an empty bottle, a lotta booze and no shame.”  
General laughters followed, it sounded easy.  


“But here comes the snag: It's also called truth or dare. Means, the one spinning the bottle is allowed to ask any question or action from the person the bottle points at. That depends what is chosen, and you can't go back once you set up yer mind. You can't endure that game being sober, because almost everything's allowed and also likely to happen”, you went on explaining and laughed for some of the present guys had turned pale.  
Some even wanted to get up to leave, but Dutch cleared his throat, forcing them to stay.  


“Well, although I think we're too old for such games it still is the first time Skuld talks to us at the campfire”, he then said, almost solemnly. He was right, outside the circle around the campfire you had no problem talking to the gang members – just sitting in front of it and then starting a conversation, that was something you hadn't had the guts to do up to now.  


“But-”  


“Of course I can't force anybody, but I think as part of our hospitality we ought to try it.” Maybe he was planning a _dare_ at which someone should hit your head with an arrow. Why were you so salty? He literally helped your right now, took your side.  


“I'm in!” Suddenly Karen jumped up, holding her empty bottle in her hand. “Else we'll never have some fun here. Skuld, who starts?”  


“Dunno. Shall I spin?”  


“Absolutely”, Hosea said from your left. “Give us an example.”  


So you caught the bottle which Karen threw at you and put it onto the ground. With the fire in the middle it was kinda hard to tell who it was pinning at, but you were sure folks would see it clear enough. You spun the bottle skilfully – you loved truth or dare – and waited until it came to a halt.  
Through the fire it pointed at Susan Grimshaw. That woman didn't even blink an eye. Stone-cold.  


“Truth or dare, Miss Grimshaw?”  


“What'cha recommend?”  


“Uh, for my fun I'd say dare, for your dignity truth.”  
General indignant inbreathing. _Oh_ , you thought sarcastically, _you got yourselves a bitch and now you don't know how to deal with her? Not every girl is as sweet as Mary-Beth or as lovely as Tilly._  


“Dare.” Expectantly Miss Grimshaw leaned back. Two bottles of whiskey were handed out, making their way around the circle and arrived rather empty back at Uncles place. The older man considered himself as some sort of bar-keeper to avoid playing.  


“Aight, fine”, you laughed. “You gotta guess three fellow players with your eyes blindfolded. Anybody here has a piece of cloth?”  
Without a word Arthur gave you something – his black small scarf which he wore as cover at robberies. You got up and went over to Miss Grimshaw. “If it's too tight, just lemme know.”  


“Don't act so innocent, gal.”  
People around you hooted, more booze was flowing.  


As Susan couldn't see a thing anymore you turned to the others. “Everbody who's okay with getting felt now raises their hands.” Nobody did as told until you raised your hand up in the most apish way. Giggling the girls did so, too and you even got Bill, Lenny and Javier to lift their hands. You chose Tilly – Susan would've known Karen right away – and the younger men. Bill's belly was way too big and easily associated with him.  


Suppressing giggles the three arranged themselves in a line in front of Miss Grimshaw and you told the lady to stretch out her hands. Shamelessly you pushed Lenny forward.  
And Susan did what everybody would have done. She felt his butt, causing the girls to laugh and clap their hands. Even Hosea allowed a soft chuckle.  
Unfortunately the woman knew all the members of the group inside out, so it took her not even five minutes to identify the three in front of her. You opened the knot of the scarf and gave it back to Arthur, thanking him. The man just threw uninterpretable glances at you.  


“Okay, now it's your turn. Spin the bottle.” You threw it to Susan who didn't waste any time but spun it like a pro. It pointed at Arthur. He tried to evade but he had to bow to the will of the laughing mob. Susan forced him to decide between truth or dare.  


“Then truth”, he muttered, taking a huge gulp of whiskey.  


“Arthur.” Susan stopped and thought. Looked at you. “I can ask anything?”  


“Whatever you desire to know”, you purred, back at your place between Hosea's and Arthur's legs. Latter rammed his knee into your back, not hard enough to hurt but just so the message got delivered. You laughed it off.  


“Even inappropriate things?” Her eyes grew bigger.  


“Especially those.”  


“Arthur.” That expression on her face didn't mean any good. “If you had to, with which woman here would you copulate and why?”  


COPULATE! _I'm deceased._ Highly amused you glanced at Susan. She had delivered that with the best poker face you'd ever seen while you just cracked inside. Epic. 

Hosea gave you a bottle of booze and you took a big sip out of it. By now it didn't even burn that disgustingly anymore. You grew accustomed to that terrifyingly fast. But you were too good-humored to think about getting sober or care for dignified behaviour.  


The knee at your right side stiffened a bit and you could almost feel him regret his choice. He looked down awkwardly, adjusting his black scarf. He harrumphed.  


“That's stupid”, he complained, caught the glance he got from Susan and sighed loudly. “I wouldn't... No, none. Even if I had to, I... Jesus, Susan, did ya even think 'bout that?”  


Silently you offered him some whiskey which he gratefully drank. Then he groaned again, defeated. 

“If I had to, it'd be... Skuld here. Yall are like family to me and it'd be just.. wrong.” Softly he nudged you with his boot. Staring at him you felt quite scandalized. 

_Excuse MOI_?! Everyone saw your expression, which led to a real laughing fit.  


“Don't act like that, witch”, Micah called out, voice dripping with malice. “There's literally nobody here who hasn't thought 'bout that. Yer clothes make that quite easy.”  


“Micah, behave yourself”, Hosea warned, patting your head. “He's talking nonsense all day long.”  


“I need me more booze”, you whined while Susan threw the bottle to Arthur. You took the one Arthur had placed at his side, it was still halfway full and you used it to drown your own-induced shame with it.  
Meanwhile Arthur spun the bottle fiercely. Actually that passionately it wouldn't stop for a while, earning him some dirty laughters. His inner anger was clearly visible this time. You laughed with the others – until, that is, the bottle pointed at you.  


“Skuld...” Somehow ashamed but also grinning smugly the man looked down to you. “Truth or dare?”  


“Dare”, you retorted kinda snotty. No way you could urge others to take _dare_ and then just back out of it as it's your turn. You weren't a wimp, after all.  


“I dare ya to sing that song you had in yer head and to dance to it.”  


“The fuck's wrong with you?” Mumbling you slowly stood up, your joints creaking. “Charles, you sit on a fine case. Do me a favour and drum the beat.” You clapped in your hands to show him how you wanted it to sound. It was very R'n'Bly.  
He started drumming and you nodded. That would work. 

You went over to the fire and began to slowly move to the rhythm. Not even two lazy turns later you were somewhere else in your thoughts.  
You're at a club, all around you happy people, the air is stuffy and filled with the smell of flirting people searching for somebody lot lay. There's a scent of rum and coke and fog machine.  
You started singing _Oops Oh My_ and as you came to the part about buttery brown skin you squatted down in front of Tilly, her facing your backside, and got up in the most slutty way possible – it even caused some of the girls to gasp.  


“ _Oops! There goes my shirt up over my head, oh my - Oops! There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet, oh my - Oh! Some kind of touch caressing my legs, oh my - Oh! I'm turnin' red who could this be..._ You tugged on your top and your shorts, then you went around shaking your butt, your hands on your torso and arms – all while defiantly staring at Arthur. His gaze was stuck at you, his jaw slightly dropped. You winked at Hosea who looked away hastily, face reddening. Temporarily Charles had lost the beat and couldn't find it anymore. Who could blame him?  


As you finally were done singing you crouched down at your place again, shrugging your shoulders. “I told'im he shouldn't ask.” With that you took the bottle, lazily spinning it. Now it was Javier's turn to chose.  


“T-truth”, he sputtered almost overwhelmed.  
Somehow you got the feeling you'd rather sleep in the woods tonight.  


“What's the most frivolous thing you've ever said?”  


“Oh, that's easy.” He found his self-confidence again, a grin gracing his features. “ _Apuesto a que te gustaría que te chingara justo aquí._ ” The grin grew wider and more smug to an extend you had to look away. Spanish D, luckily. You had no idea what he just had said. Something about a thing to like and you were quite sure you heard him say here. It didn't sound good. Or chaste. At all.  
The women laughed bashfully while you threw the bottle to the man. Not a minute later it stopped at Mary-Beth. She flinched.  


“I can't do that”, Javier said. “She's so young.”  


“Dare!”, the brunette suddenly called out, throwing you a proud glance. You smiled in return, gave a thumbs-up. That girl's crazy.  


“I can't believe Mary-Beth's doin' that 'cause of you”, Arthur murmured into your ear and you could almost feel his need to strangle you with his scarf.  


“I can't believe you asked for the song.” Sulkily you took a sip from the whiskey. “I hope you won't get rid of that boner anytime soon.”  


“Don't think your nudity impresses me in any way.”  


“You only say that 'cause you've never seen me getting nude for somebody.”  


Hosea almost choked on his drink, coughed until Arthur battered onto his back. After he had survived that, the older man stared at you with big eyes.  
“You're quite vulgar”, he noticed.  


“I didn't even get started.” You had to calm yourself right now. No need to get bitchy for something you couldn't even point out – except your rotten character. How were they supposed to know just how much smutty fanfiction you had read already? They literally could not know that.  


“Dare... kiss the man you think is the most attractive!” Javier sounded quite confident, probably because he was one of the men with a better understanding of style. To his – and everyone's – surprise, Mary-Beth went straight away over to young Lenny and placed a small kiss onto the corner of his mouth. The young man was clearly shocked, causing you to chuckle. These grown ups were just like teenagers. Totally cramped when it came to get embarrassed in front of friends.  
Mary-Beth spun the bottle and the next victim was … Charles. The whole lot held their breath. Everybody knew that this man was very offish and rather not talked about himself to just anybody. That he was even sitting in this round could be counted as a wondrous thing.  


Suddenly you heard Karen call “Dare! Dare! Dare!” and soon many of the players joined the chanting.  
Charles shot you a desperate glance at which you called over to him that it was solely his decision which option to take. He looked over to Arthur and Arthur's face was burning red and obviously Charles was afraid to make a fool of himself.  
The man sighed audibly and said, with a lot of regret: “Dare.”  


The younger participants screeched joyfully, all eyes set on Mary-Beth. That romantic bookworm. So she should now think about something for introverted Charles.  
But before she said anything, she scurried over to you, sitting down at your side.  


“Skuld, I don't know what to say! I thought he'd take truth!” Her cheeks were flushed and her voice pitched with nervousness. Her bright blue eyes shimmered at you, fire light flickering in them. You had no idea what to say.  


“Mary-Beth... please don't ask her”, Charles appealed urgently to her; you couldn't help yourself but give him your most creepy and wolfish grin, additionally wiggling with your eyebrows. Immediately regretting that – you still had to sleep at his side tonight.  


“Tell him, he should... uh... Arthur-”  


“Dont'cha dare!” Obviously you'd hit a sensitive spot, named man had totally forgotten his usual good manners towards you.  


Daring you shot Arthur a glance, but then went on talking with Mary-Beth. “Tell Charles he should... oh by. I can't do it!” You looked at the young woman at your side, biting your lower lip. “I cannot do it to this man.”  


“But I can.” Mary-Beth nodded at you, taking the whiskey bottle which still stood between you and Arthur. “Charles, you have to drink whiskey out of a belly button of your choice!” She went back to her place, sitting down between Karen and Dutch.  


“Who of you had a wash today?”, Charles wanted to know. Nobody raised their hand, you neither. Although you'd been in the river today, but there was no way you would tell anybody about that now, since that would mean that-  


“I know that Skuld's in the river every day”, Tilly let out her inner smartass. “At least half an hour.”  


“Somebody else?”, you dared asking. And how the hell did Tilly know how long you endured shivering in that ice cold water? Had she been watching you? Another voyeur?  


“Uh, you don't wanna show your belly button?”, Micah teased you from across the fire.  


“Nobody? Boys? Don't lemme down like that!”  
But it was known that none of the men cared all too much for hygiene, and while at it, sometimes the girls didn't neither. Even Miss Grimshaw shook her head as you pleadingly stared at her. That woman knew that this was hopeless. So you got up again and went over to Mary-Beth. “What should I do?”  


“Lay on the ground.” She almost sounded like a daddy-whoremonger, her voice just a tad deeper than before and a bit rasp. Was she in some sort of heat? If yes, you took it as a compliment.  
You did as told, putting your legs a bit up. Then you pulled your waist-high trousers a bit down, just enough for your belly button to be visible. And the piercing in it.  


“What's that?” Charles wondered, looking at the glistening thing quizzically.  


“Body decoration”, you managed to gripe, quite done with the situation already. He should rather be glad you washed your navel every day because of the piercing.  


“This gets better by the minute!” Mary-Beth clapped her hands, then poured some of the whiskey into your belly button. Some of the liquid overspilled, running down your sides onto the ground, unfortunately some ran down to your waistband, wetting it. You held your breath. If it wasn't for the alcohol flowing through your veins right now, you would've gotten up and fled the scene. But you felt a bit blurry and didn't want to disappoint Mary-Beth.  
Grinning at you, the young woman waved Charles to come closer to the two of you. “Charles, you gotta crawl between her legs and drink outta her belly button.”  


“WHAT?!” Charles and you stared at Mary-Beth, completely off guard, then each other. Then again the brunette. Had she secretly been reading erotica? Where had she gotten them? Usually you were then one with the dirty mind! She should no longer get booze from anyone!  


Surrendering to your fate – did you mention you were a master at complaining about that? - you let your head fall back onto the ground and spread your legs so Charles could fit through them with his broad shoulders.  
You didn't want to look up to see Charles, but there was no way you would want to see Arthur's face reddening even more. Much less turn your head to face Dutch. That guy was probably already having a good laugh because of that.  


Your field of view was one thing – the other was _feeling_ Charles' closeness. He steadied himself on his hands to your sides, just so he wasn't touching you.  
Seeing his head lowering to your navel caused you to feel a bit wobbly. Alcohol got to your head as well as all your blood, at least it felt like that. You felt your cheeks redden and heating up and as you felt his warm breath on your exposed skin you held your breath once again and tried not to tense up. On your thighs you could feel his arms almost vibrate holding him up so he wouldn't need to hold onto you.  


Just as you wanted to belt something rude towards Mary-Beth Charles started sucking on your navel, his tongue slowly twisting your piercing so he could get all the whiskey.  
Heat shot into your head and your knees got weaker by the second. Why had his lips to be that soft, his tongue so smooth and warm?  


You put your right hand on your face to not witness this anymore – but it got lifted again. Arthur held your right wrist up, his gaze fixed on your face.  
You were drunk and a mess and you had no excuse for nothing.  


The screeching and hollering from the gang was nothing but a blur – except you could hear Micah clearly. His voice a snarl. “Show us how she cums, Charles!”  


_I'm gonna snap_ , you thought, throwing your head so you could stare at fish-belly through the flames. You threw angry glares. Right then you decided, in your boozy blur, that your revenge would be sweeter than Neotame, and that stuff was up to 13k times sweeter than ordinary sugar.  
Most definitely you'd come to stab him, 58 times should be enough. And what a symbolism that was! Nobody would get it, except you. Five meaning motion, forthcoming, own freedom and reaction; eight for strength, control and risk.  
Oh, you'd be so satisfied.  


Luckily Charles now was done licking your belly button, sat up and – gentleman to the core – helped you up, too. Arthur helped, too. Which was good thing since your legs were still made of jelly.  
Micah glared at you from his seat – hopefully he had interpreted your death-stare correctly. Had he said another thing, you doubtlessly would have grabbed a burning log of wood and thrown that thing at him; burning your hand would have been like an honour.  


The gang members were suspiciously silent, staring from you to the sky and backwards. You looked up, too. The small shreds of clouds had transformed to huge, growling thunderclouds, darkening the sky. From afar was rolling thunder audible.  
“Well, that sure was somethin' different”, Dutch suddenly said, standing up. “I think we should all rest now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say I'm sorry for that mess - you guys can clearly tell which songs I listened to and why I wrote what I wrote.  
> Also this is hella long, but there simply was no good way to split it in parts.
> 
> AND finally I found out and managed to get some space between the lines after posting. It makes it longer, but definitely easier to read for you, so I'm quite glad I figured that out.


	11. It's Time To Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To evade your guilty conscience you get to work on your plan.  
> Not only do you start to actually use your knowledge in a way that works for your situation, you also realize that not only butterflies seem attached to you.

Though they had scattered afterwards, most of the gang members had hit their cots – kinda heated up, but still calm – soon after. Mary-Beth and Karen had been talking, giggling hysterically, whilst Arthur and Charles had fled the scene. You could understand the men just too well.

Over you the clouds banked up, but you didn't worry about it, just like the rest of the group. They were mostly sound asleep, not even half an hour after Dutch had ended the game and you were alone at the campfire. Detached you stared into the flickering flames.

Actually, this would be a great moment to steal something personal from Dutch. After all, that had been your plan all along. 

Silently groaning you got up and stretched yourself.  
No way you should think about that incident with Charles – as little as you were interested in Sex per se, as irritatingly erotic had he done that.  
Though both of you definitely had other things on your minds at that moment.

Halfway attentive you looked about the place, then went over to Dutch's tent. You were quite tempted to just take money out of the box of the gang.  
But nobody would think highly of that. Including yourself.

To your surprise nobody was patrolling the place – did they not think it necessary tonight? Seemed to be your duty, then. Silently you giggled to yourself, followed by a deep yawn.  
Every sense of time had left you. It was dark, so it had to be night. But the time? Who knew. 

Time went by in form of pop songs which played in your head. You should do something within ten minutes? No problem. In that time you sang – sometimes loudly, sometimes humming, sometimes in your head – _Stand by me, Ribcage_ and _Candyman_. After these the ten minutes had passed. Round about.

Inside the tent of Dutch and Molly it was dark, there was no conversation to be heard. Surely they were fast asleep, tired as they had been.  
And _if_ you should get caught, you'd act drunk.

Carefully you pulled the heavy, abrasive curtain on the backside of the tent away, taking a long look about. How you wished for your dark hair to be back. These at least were inconspicuous. 

Halfway into the tent you stopped to listen to every sound around you. Though only soft breathing was to hear, you were still not eased. Were they acting? Did somebody see you sulking around? 

Now that the rush of adrenaline and alcohol-induced hype had almost vanished you were starting to freeze, feeling wobbly on your legs. You knew exactly how that came, though. Not that it mattered right now. Where was the sense in telling yourself that alcohol at first widened the vessels so more warm blood could reach close to the body surface – causing it to cool down way faster. That's why you were cold now. The glory of medicine study. 

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dizzy, tingling feeling in your fingers. 

Now or never.  
But what was the right thing to steal?  
You decided it didn't matter, as long as it belonged to Dutch. 

You'd only need the item for tonight and would bring it back as soon as possible. After thinking for a few seconds, your choice fell onto the red pocket square. Gently you pulled it out of the vest, later you would even fold it so he would never notice.  
There was a good chance it would work.

With your heart pounding hard against your chest, you sneaked out of the tent, not causing a single sound. The pocket square felt quite cold in your cold-sweaty hands.

Taking a sharp gasp, you arrived at your hiding place behind the rock – these last meters you had covered rather marching.  
Mostly to get away from the sleeping Javier and Charles. Internally you upbraided yourself for having stashed the map at your sleeping place. 

You'd really dislike waking and therewith angering the men – since you'd probably unpopularised yourself tonight in a way that you could pack up your few things and leave the next morning anyway.  
The things you had minus Mary-Beth's briefs. 

And you couldn't even hold that against them, if it happened. You had behaved like a real low-life, like you had no control over yourself, like you took joy in exposing each and every person you met just for the fun of it.

The small grassy hill ledge was solely lit by moon light – which was enough for what you had planned. 

Concentrating on slow, deep breaths you carefully dug out the small pebble, then proceeded to thread the twine through the hole in it. Having done that, you lay the opened map in front of you.  
Then you wrapped the stone in Dutchs' pocket square, putting the bundle onto the map. To be honest you were quite glad Hosea had given it to you.

You lay yourself full length down, your hands resting on the map and the pocket square.  
To be honest, you didn't quite know if this actually helped, but you liked having physical contact to your utensils. 

Unfortunately you could not look up to the moon that way, but that was not necessary for your work now. You had your eyes closed. For the following you wanted to be as relaxed and composed as possible.

After a while you had the feeling you had waited enough, you would not get any calmer. At some point you actually had to start working.  
So you sat up again, legs crossed.  
Softly biting your lower lip, you took the pocket square and unwrapped the pebble – which was now, of course, your pendulum. You put the red cloth at the side of the map.

Without further circumlocutions you lifted your hand holding the pendulum, having it directly above the map.  
Though you were not a person of many words when it came to your magic, you knew basic rules – talk with your stuff. Mumble, sing or touch. Communication is key. 

“Dear pendulum of mine, thank you for your time”, you softly said, almost breathed. “You turn clockwise, that's a _Yes_ for me. You turn counter-clockwise, that's a _No_. If you don't know the answer, you go from side to side.”

Nobody listened, they were all asleep.  
Only a few fireflies and moths kept you company. The night was filled with warm stillness and the rustling of small animals in the undergrowth. 

You held the pendulum above Valentine on the map.  
“That's Valentine”, you said.  
It didn't move a bit. But then, ever so slowly, it started to turn clockwise.

It stopped moving and you put your hand underneath it. You took your time to think.  
“The group thinks I'm kinda okay.”  
No doubt, there was a glint of joy in that expected _No_. Self-affirmation tended to be rather delightful. 

But before you could even start developing that gloating grin, the pendulum started rotating clockwise. Clearly doing so.  
_Bullshit_ , you thought, almost angry. _So it doesn't work._

You sighed, but refused to give up that easily.  
“I have a brother.” - Counter-clockwise.  
Maybe you should have started with easier questions. For the pendulum and yourself.

You swung it around a bit and waited until it was still again.  
In the meantime you stared up at the pale, beautiful moon, mesmerized. It looked more than magic, spilling its light onto the huge thunderclouds, causing their shadows to be even more ominously. 

“The money Dutch and the gang stole in Blackwater is still in the city area.”  
You waited for an answer from the pendulum. It seemed to take forever – you had to withstand the urge to move it yourself. 

Finally it started to swing. Clockwise.  
A wolfish grin stole its way onto your face. 

“Said money is in the north of Blackwater.” - Counter-clockwise.  
“Said money is buried in the south of Blackwater.” That got you a _Yes_.

Excitedly you stopped your questioning and just held your pendulum still.  
You felt your fingers tingle a bit – this time not from the alcohol. Though, that may be partly to be blamed for that. You felt like you had been slightly shifted, but not physically. 

You looked into the sky, again. Heat lightnings flickered in the distance, danced through the clouds. Taking deep breaths, you focused on the pendulum again. 

“ _Veni ad me_. Show me where the money is hidden.”  
You swirled the pendulum over the whole area of Blackwater on the map and waited until its circles grew smaller. The answer was so close!

Finally it settled to vibrate above a spot behind some of the houses of the outskirts of Blackwater, just left of the street leaving the city. Well, you would find that place for sure.

“Dear pendulum of mine, my whole thanks is thine.” Honestly happy you kissed the pendulum, then stuffed it into your bra. You were sure you could use it later on again.  
You furled the map, neatly folded the pocket square.

Tidy as you were – at least sometimes – you put everything back to where yo got it from. The cloth into Dutch's vest, still afraid to be seen or heard, almost suffering an anxiety-attack as Molly moved on her cot.  
You took the map with your to your sleeping place, most likely you'd need that later, too.

Eventually you stood in front of the two sleeping men again, honestly you were quite indecisive as to what you wanted to do with yourself now. _Actually_ you ought to leave right now at that moment. But you were so tired and exhausted and just a tad drunk. 

“Would ya mind to stop lurking 'round and finally go to sleep?”

“Why are you always awake when I do nothin' but stand around?”, you asked, more annoyed than you should be, while Charles sat up to eye you scrutinising.

“What were you doin' so long?”, he wanted to know, in no way curious. 

“Watchin' clouds.” That was only half a lie. You crawled into the space between the men. 

Javier's breath was steady and deep, he had his back turned to you. He had his knees tucked up, embryonical-style – he was taking up a lot of space here. You squeezed yourself in, refusing to think about what had happened earlier that night.

“There will be a storm.” Charles gave you a bit of place. 

“Who knows. Sometimes storms pass by.”

A tensed silence followed that, growing bigger between the two of you and you felt the urge to apologize for that belly-button-act. You let out a small huff, then you looked at the huge man at your side carefully.

“Charles.. uh... I just wanna say, that.. well... it's still super awkward.”

“You made quite a fool of yourself, although it's been your idea”, he slowly nodded.

“I don't... That's not my point. I don't mind shaming myself, not at all.” _Tough stays tough_ \- but there was no need for him to know. “But that you got pulled into that mess – I'm sorry 'bout that.” Embarrassed you could hardly stand his gaze. He seemed to be so calm and if he was affected by it, then it seemed like it didn't really bother him. Though you dared doubting his facial expression. 

“Sure is. It was … odd.”

The two of you exchanged a silent look, then you allowed yourself an optimistic smile. 

“At least you weren't forced to pull out fluffs outta Bill's navel.”

Charles furrowed his brows at that thought, then rolled his eyes at you. “Gross.”

Giggling you took off your shoes and lay down. The man at your side followed that example and turned towards you. So you turned around to face Javier's back – and so for the rest of the night you were a platonic spooning-trio.

You slept the sleep of sinners. Deep and sound and dreamless. 

But when you awoke, a feeling soaked thorough your skin. It felt like forlornness.  
Had you not made it clear that you wanted to get back home? Didn't the sky and the spirits know already? Hadn't you told them often enough?  
And still you were caught in this world. 

Not that the presence of the people here bothered you. _You_ bothered yourself since you didn't belong here at all.

A crawling sensation on your left arm led your way from Javier's small ponytail to your left. Slightly yawning you blinked, turning your head to your arm – which was literally brimming with yellow swallowtails.  
They fluttered their wings irregularly, scuttling over your skin. Even your fingers were covered by them.

Confused you stared at the butterflies and tried to remember if anything like that had ever happened to you before. You couldn't think of anything.  
Animals were not really running from you – but that they sought your presence... that had never happened before.  
Maybe it was because of your now white hair. Who knew for sure?

You stood up, as slowly as you could, which didn't bother the butterflies at all, it seemed. Though, you would not try to run around with them on your, but taking a small stroll? That should be possible. 

In your belly you again felt that strange sensation of being shifted – as if you were not quite here and not wholly somewhere else. If you concentrated too much on it you were sure you'd get sick.  
Although that feeling could come from the drinking last night; though confused you still were hungover. You were worn out, the early sunlight burned in your eyes and you felt queasy. 

Charles and Javier were still fast asleep and you started to entertain the suspicion that your sleep-schedule was being fucked up right now. Usually you could sleep for at least ten hours straight – now it seemed you only managed to sleep five hours, if not less.  
Somehow that unsettled you immensely. 

Walking over to the horses you hoped nobody else was up already. The butterflies were like glued onto your arm, shimmering in the orange-pinkish light of the slowly rising sun.

For just a short second you thought about stealing Dutch's horse for your plan. Just because you could and you didn't like that guy at all.  
Determined you went over to The Count, the horses' bright pink nostrils widened at your sight. That didn't mean anything by now. 

Without saying a word you went closer to the albino-Arabian, only looking at him. His pale blue eyes seemed to judge you and the surroundings. Neigh or not to neigh, that was the question. Obviously The Count had decided not to neigh. 

Following an intuition you slowly lifted your left arm, the one covered with butterflies, to let The Count sniff on it. Some of the yellow swallowtails fluttered over onto the horse, on his mane and ears. 

“Yeahh.. that's a good boy”, you imitated Arthur's way to talk with horses, coming closer to the albino-Arabian. You would pinch that horse from Dutch out of pure spite.  
Even more butterflies changed places in favour of the horse, causing him to huff. 

And then The Count bumped his nose against your slightly lifted hand. His nostrils were so soft, his breath so warm.  
The Count closed his blue eyes while you were surprised and did nothing but stare at him and then at the yellow swallowtails – which all fluttered away at the same time, covering you in a yellow cloud before dispersing in different directions. 

You started caressing the Arabian, slowly and carefully so, mumbling meaningless compliments into his ear. He let it happen, rubbing his face onto your shoulder and your hands.  
You felt wobbly on your knees and very honoured.  
Although you were not a big fan of horses you knew it was quite hard to gain their trust. Harder than many things in this world.

And as much as you knew, this horse in particular didn't want anybody to touch him except for Dutch.  
Maybe you allowed yourself a base-souled grin.

“Jesus...Christ...”

Caught in the act you turned around – to see Pearson, who had been about to prepare coffee, judging from the can in his hand. He stared at you, mouth gaping, then to The Count, then back to you.  
You furrowed your brows.

“Mornin', Person”, you plainly said, turning back to the horse. It made no difference now anymore. 

“Th-that's.. you...”

“Just brew the coffee, please.”

“Nobody can... The Count... unbelievable.”

You could feel your thread of patience slowly ripping apart. Yes, you were surprised, too, that this nag accepted you. Yes, nobody had petted, let alone rode him; except for Dutch. 

Soon on X-Factor The Intangible, this time with _How the bitch bewitched the horse_. “Pearson, brew the coffee.”

Unfortunately you could hear him put the can down and walk away.  
You had quite an idea where he was off to. Why were people here such snitches? 

Sighing you patted the horse one last time, then you left the horses.  
Quickly you got yourself a sack with grains while you heard Pearson waking Dutch.  
But as the leader of the gang finally came out of his tent, you were already feeding the chicken, totally innocent.  
You could see Pearson doubting his own senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out waaay longer than expected, I still hope you enjoy


	12. Goldenthroat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You decide to take direct action - again. This time, though, you hope to do the right thing whitout exposing yourself even more. You want to make this count as an apology.

After Miss Grimshaw had recruited you to work around camp – to her great pleasure and your punishment – you found yourself dragging heavy bags, piling logs, starting the two campfires and doing laundry. The whole time you were sweating, mouth dry and tasting of copper. When did you have your last cup of water? Bourbon was your drink of choice here, it seemed.

You felt that your biggest achievement this day was not throwing up onto the logs.

“Well, look at that.” Miss Grimshaw appeared behind you just as you hung up the clean but wet clothes. “Seems you're done with yer work.”

“Seems like that”, you said, smiling sheepishly. Your head felt light, empty even and your arms were heavy. “Anythin' more to do?” You knew you had to ask, though you hoped she would leave you be. There was a headache waiting for you and it would be fierce.

“No. You did enough. Get some rest.” She graced you with a thin lipped but honest smile and left to check on the other girls – if they did useful stuff. 

A glad sigh slipped through your lips, followed by a burp – it tasted disgustingly like alcohol and shame. You forced yourself to gulp down the urge to vomit, biting the insides of your cheeks.  
Avoiding human contact you fled to your spot behind the rock to rest for a while.

By now it was midday and you had brought yourself to get up and brush your teeth. Thankfully Mrs. Grimshaw had bought you one in Valentine – without you having asked for one. But you surely had missed brushing your teeth a lot. 

And brush you did, diligently so. The bristles bent under the pressure you put on them. Knowing they were made from hog hair tempered the joy of cleaning your teeth. Most likely they had been boiled, but who could guarantee you that? 

At least you had managed to solve the pee-cloth-secret. You had secretly watched Susan taking the basket with the dirty clothes and followed her to see what she was about to do. 

As a matter of fact, these cloths got boiled, then the dirty water was poured away and replaced with hot soapy water to get the cloths really clean. So they at least tried to be hygienic about that. That fact comforted you beyond all measure.

You wanted to accompany the prisoner for a bit. On your way through camp you could hear agonized groaning, pitiful gagging and you could swear somebody was silently crying. Most certainly that came from Lenny or some of the other young folk, who were not hard-drinking.  
They were now hungover and terribly sick and yet still probably remembered everything that had happened and had been your fault. 

You just wanted to dig yourself into the ground, head first. 

With now anew rising remorse you tiptoed through camp, not wanting to meet anybody. 

You made your way to Kieran, who was still tied to the tree-trunk. He watched you approach, his eyes tired and reddened. Without comment you sat down by his side and kept brushing your teeth. How much you had missed that on the first two days here!

“Hello”, the captive greeted you, patiently watching you going on about your mouth-hygiene.  
As short as your stay here was up to now, Kieran definitely was one of the better companions around.

You took the toothbrush out of your mouth, spat out the toothpaste-foam into a shrub and proceeded to gargle with water, which didn't serve as a pretty picture to look at. When you were satisfied with how your teeth and mouth felt, you turned to face Kieran again. 

“So Kieran... how are ya today?”, you asked, giving him a fond smile. 

“I'm very hungry...”, he said, voice weak. “Bourbon is nice, but... somethin' to eat...” He let out a pained sigh.  
And you could understand him. Already one day without food turned your mood sour. For Kieran to stay that devout and begging for literally anything seemed like an act of huge strength to you. 

“You know, today's your lucky day.” You got up. And why should you not do it? Nobody would notice you feeding Kieran.  
Besides, you would be long gone if it was found out.

“W-what?”  
His brown eyes widened, a hopeful glint shimmered in them. 

“I said, today's your lucky day, Kieran Duffy.” Comradely grinning at him, you stretched yourself, then made your way to Pearson's wagon. 

The man was busy cutting up the meat of a deer Charles had brought him. Without asking you took two carrots, a bit cooked meat and an apple. The food stuffed in your hands you felt like a raccoon, pattering back to Kieran.

“M-Miss...” As he saw the food, he groaned.

“Just be silent and open your mouth.” 

Slowly you started to feed the man, first the carrots, then the meat. While you ripped it into pieces so he wouldn't choke on it, you noticed tears in the corners of his eyes.  
You gulped and helped him to another piece of meat. That man was almost starved. 

Though you knew you were undermining Dutch right now in almost every possible way, you didn't feel guilty about it. Much rather you felt pride and joy in seeing how glad Kieran was to finally eat a little bit again. 

As he had finished with everything, even the apple, an expression of bliss graced his haggard face, his eyes glowing with tears and thankfulness. Seeing that, warmth filled your small heart, causing the waters in your eyes to rise, too. Hastily you blinked them away.

“How- how can I...” He sighed and licked his lips. 

“Just act like you're still starvin'. And don't get yerself shot.” You patted his shoulder, then again went over to Pearson. You had things to prepare, places to be. 

Just like you had hoped, an empty bag was laying there. You just took it, nobody noticed you doing so. That, somehow, was a sad fact but on the other hand, it was in your favour.  
Holding your gain in your hands, you hurried to your sleeping place.  
There you put the map into the bag, as well as your briefs and – though feeling bad about it – the jacket which had served as your pillow for the last nights. 

You went back to the rock and hid the bag there, growing more confident. Eventually this would be for the greater good and nobody would blame you for the means taken.  
Determined you headed over to Mrs. Grimshaw, lending a needle and yarn. With that you stitched around on the upper end of the bag, so you could close it and knot it. It would be easier to carry it like that. 

After doing that, you decided to join the girls who were all occupied with domestic chores.  
Tilly and Mary-Beth still seemed rather wrecked, their eyes reddened and swollen, a tad pale around their noses. You could relate to that.

“Here, Susan gave it to me. Thought you might need it.” You gave Mary-Beth the sewing-stuff, then watched her mending some socks. To be honest with yourself, you never learned how to do that. Not even knit. Maybe you should start with that, now that you had so much time on your hands. 

“Skuld, I have to ask you somethin'”, the brunette suddenly blurted out, putting her stuff away. Her brown eyes stared fearful at you.

“Sure.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“What for?” You knew exactly what for.

“Well... uh.. because of Charles and... yesterday. I mean.. I just thought, the two of you'd like it...” Pudently she rummaged through her things. 

“But why would we like something like that?” You laughed a bit, to cover the fact that, indeed, you had had just a bit of fun. Even if it had been the kind of fun after which one wanted to shoot themselves.

“I-I don't know... you're looking at Charles in a way. When he doesn't look”, she whispered, her voice rasp from smoking and drinking and feeling sick. She threw careful glances over to Karen, who was caught up in a conversation with Tilly. “I thought you … like him.” Her face flushed.

There was no need telling her how right she was with her assumption. Your small gamer-heart had just embraced many of the cowboys from the camp and although romance was none of your business, you couldn't help but stare at them longingly as often and long as you could.  
Maybe you had been a bit obtrusive doing so, since you knew how it all would end. You just wanted to remember every detail about them, every tiny quirk and the way they talked. Just like watching someone loved slowly dying on their deathbed.  
With the difference that the dying here would take a long time. 

“Well, he is a gorgeous man”, you said instead of telling her your thoughts. You put your chin on your hands. “You gotta look at his eyes. When he's alone.”

“So you _do_ like him!”, Mary-Beth rejoiced silently and came closer to you. “Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.”

“It's not a secret that Charles is a handsome man.” Grinning you glanced over to Mary-Beth, who blushed even harder. You allowed a playful laugh. “Why're you blushing?”

“Did... did you like that yesterday?”

“Wha- Mary-Beth! Why you wanna know?!”

Both of you stifled your giggles, like criminals. 

“I've heard of novels which only tell such stories and … once I could catch a glimpse into one. And I thought... well... uh.. I don't know what I thought. Guess I wanted to see what happened in that book with my own eyes”, she admitted, glancing at you apologetically. 

Not that this glance out of her big eyes would make the situation better.  
What shocked you even more than her confession was the fact that the innocent Mary-Beth, the good-hearted, unblemished, sexually inexperienced and highly romantic Mary-Beth wanted to read erotica. And even wanted to see them.  
In conclusion she wanted to watch a soft-porno. _What the fuck, man._

“Ya know, Mary-Beth, maybe I'll buy you one of these novels and then you can search for a partner to try these things yourself”, you managed to chuckle, then you got up. “So, uh.. see ya.”

Reddening again, she waved after you and you decided to never even so much as look at Charles or Javier or anybody in this camp ever again. Who would've thought that you could stare so blatantly?  
You took that as a sign to get going and spend the next week as productive as possible.

All thunderclouds had vanished and what was left was a stunning sunset, glowing red and golden, taking the last bit of warmth with it.  
You sat on the brink, your feet dangling, thinking about what may would happen. About the things you wanted to do.  
Taking deep breaths you smiled at the smell of spring, flowers, grass and wood. Your gaze followed some ravens, flying over you towards their unknown destination. Not thinking about it, you counted them. They were six.  
That almost raised a smile from you.

By an old rhyme six ravens or crows meant gold.  
That you were on your way to get some suddenly didn't seem as unwanted by fate as you had thought it was.  
Still staring at the ravens, you hummed the nursery rhyme to yourself.  
“ _One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told, eight for a wish, ni-_ ”

“Now you're being ridiculous.” 

Caught in your humming you halfway turned around just to see Dutch, who had sneaked up on you. With his cigar between his lips he, too, observed the sunset. 

“I wouldn't know what you're talkin' about.”

“You got denounced and disgraced. And now you don't want to sit with us anymore? That won't make us forget what happened yesterday.”

“Can't a girl just enjoy a nice sunset?” Your voice sounded like ice.

“You – the sunset?” Dutch was quite close to getting sarcastic. “Miss, if I won't take something from ladies like you, it's that you're romantic.”

“Romantic?” Now you felt urged to fully face him and stare at the man. “Nothing about this is romantic. I enjoy the colours and the last bit of warmth. What kind of lady do you think I am? A whore? Just say it.”

“Your clothing makes one believe that.”

“You know what your clothes say 'bout you? Hillbilly who desperately tries to look fancy.”

“Hillbilly?” His eyes narrowed until they were hateful slits. 

_Yah, maybe that was a bit much. Maybe I shouldn't have said that_ , you thought. But what could you do about your mouth and your temper? Mercury in Aries was not made for delicate diplomacy. 

“However-” Dutch stretched the word excessively, “you are still invited to the campfire.” He turned and went away, into this tent. His red pocket square was in place. You grinned. That guy was a catastrophe and didn't realize a thing you did in hidden.

Since you'd been invited from the gang leader himself to sit with them again you had to go. So you dragged your cadaver rather listlessly towards the already boozy goings-on around the fire. Almost everybody sat or stood there, drinking, talking and laughing. 

You were the foreign object in the camp-routine. Why would they want you around? Except Mary-Beth, who loved you for you... erotic nuances? Or whatever she saw within you.

“Skuld! There ya're!” The young woman jumped up at your sight, ran towards you and hugged you. It was obvious, she was drunk again. She didn't even sober up decently and drank again? This was like college just without degrees!  
Laughing you held her so the two of you wouldn't fall, the held her at arm's length. 

“You're totally tight.”

“And you.. yer.. like... like a force of – of nature! Like a th-thunderstorm! A.. a summer rain! Like the wind!”

Confused you stared at the brunette, who threw herself onto you again.  
“Mary-Beth, that's very nice. I'll get you to bed.”

“No! Am fine.” She snuggled her face into the crook of your neck, then sniffed on your hair.

“Somebody's dotty 'bout our with”, Hosea said after observing the two of you.  
Some of the people around you were watching you, others didn't really bother to pay attention to what was happening.

“Among the witches I happen to be very lettered. Also I make a good drudge and entertainer. Who doesn't like me?”, you grinned, getting the upper hand again.

Luckily Micah raised his dirty hand and seemed to try to give you a seducing look. Or was it challenging? You couldn't really tell.

“An astonishing unspectacular turn for your part”, you huffed and started walking around with Mary-Beth so you could find herself a place to sit down. 

“Your hair smells like stars”, Mary-Beth started singing, flatly and awry and full of enthusiasm. While doing so she took some strands of your frizzy hair and swung it around. “Your hair's like the stars. And yer mouth's like... like.. like... how you say that?”

“You tell me, Mary-Beth”, you said, preparing for the worst.

“Your mouth is a rose!”

“Is that so?” You acted interested and led her to the tree-trunk to sit her down at Lenny's side. But she wouldn't let you do so. Determined she stood her ground at your side, staring at you with her shimmering eyes. 

“So pretty an' full of thorns.”

“You'll become a great author one day”, you mentioned slowly, softly forcing her into a sitting position. “And thank you for the compliment.”

You could feel her craving stare in your back as you made your way out of her eyeshot – which was not all too far since she probably already saw things twice by now.  
Like that you ended at Arthurs' side, who stood behind Hosea. The tall man was smoking a cigarette.

With your arms crossed you stayed there for a while, observing the people who had taken you in without much ado. And now you were about to leave them in all secrecy, to steal from them and to betray them.  
And all that so you could change the story to your taste. Did you think of this as morally borderline? Eminently, you should be hanged. Did you still think of your plan as clever? It was phenomenal.

“Ain't ya cold, naked as ya're?” Arthur turned towards you, eyeing your bare arms and legs. 

“Got a thick skin, thanks for asking.” You gave him a neutral smile. 

The two of you remained silent for a while, until Hosea turned around and stared at you like a father looked at his arguing children. Immediately you felt bad.

“You two stubborn-heads wanna finally apologize?”

“I'm sorry, Hosea”, you said politely. But the man just huffed, not taking his stare off you. 

At your side Arthur almost threw his hands up, instead he rolled his eyes, then looked straight at you. Firelight danced in his irises. It was amazing to look at. 

“I'm sorry, Skuld, if I've insulted you.” His voice sounded as reluctant as it could. Understandable to you. 

With only a glance at Hosea you knew you had to follow suit. 

“Arthur, I have to apologize in due form. My behaviour was very indecent and I have insulted you badly. Please forgive me.” As you finished your excuse, you grinned at the man.  
He laughed heartily. 

“That was the most unbelievable thing I've ever heard.” 

“Me too.”

The two of you laughed like the idiots you were and got along just great. Hosea shook his head, then turned to listen to Javiers' guitar play again. Nobody sang, slowly the mood became tired and lazy. 

You knew you couldn't apologize to everybody in that manner – and you didn't want to, either. Even though Dutch might wish for that, you'd rather perform a service for the community.  
So you went over to Javier and squeezed yourself down at his side. 

“Javier, you wanna do something more ambitious?”, you asked him bluntly. 

He didn't care to break his play, but just looked at you with his eyebrows arched. 

“I sing and you play along.”

“ _Sí, claro._ ” He played some last accords, then he stopped and gazed at you expectantly. 

You cleared your throat and looked into the fire. No way you wanted to see their faces while you sang. Actually it was a rather intimate thing for you to let people hear you sing – and you alone. There was a huge difference from singing with friends in your car to 90s hits to performing for other people.

And because you knew that many of the listeners were romantics at heart and good people you decided to go for something sad. _If I die young_ was the perfect song.  
You sang it a bit slower than the original was, a bit sadder. At the first refrain Javier found the rhythm and tucked on the strings of his guitar. 

Nobody spoke anymore, all eyes were on Javier and you. Concentrated you stared into the fire and onto the ground, you hadn't sung it in a long while – you weren't as word-perfect as you'd been. You wanted to convey the feeling of the song, so you layered your voice with heavy velvet, sprinkled a lot of remorse on top of that.  
You let yourself carry from the image the song gave to you.

As the last tune got carried away by the soft breeze, you allowed yourself to look up. Mary-Beth was leaning on Lenny, softly crying onto his shoulder, even Abigail had to hold back a tear.  
And did you just see Hosea dry his face with his sleeve?  
You could not blame them, though. The song was sad and tended to get people depressive.  
Thankfully you smiled at Javier.

“You played wonderful.” You wanted to get up, but the Mexican took your hand ins his, so you stayed seated. 

“ _Nunca quiero volver a verte triste.” He squeezed your hand, then let go of it again._

Just as you wanted to get away from the people – was there a better time to leave? - Karen called out your name. You turned around to her. She was smoking, sitting on a case, pointing to the place at Javiers' side. 

“Sit down and sing for us.” 

“Oh, Karen, I...” 

“For months I haven't heard a decent singer except for Javier, just our drunk howling. This is a real change. Sing.” Her eyes did not accept anything but a _Yes_. 

“Okay, but the others have to want that, too. And don't hold me responsible if y'all cry in the end.” 

A short glance into the circle of people told you everything you needed to know. This night would be long, longer, longest and if you wanted to sneak away later, you'd have to be very careful and skilled about it.  
So you brought yourself to sit beside Javier again, who was still holding his guitar. You thought what to sing next. 

“Sing about love!”, Mary-Beth demanded loudly. 

“Sing a song of adventures!”, Bill shouted. 

You looked at Arthur who returned your gaze mischievously. What song would he like to hear? But instead of asking him, you turned to Dutch. “What would you like to hear?” 

The tall man seemed to consider, apparently in earnest. Then he smiled to himself. “Sing about heartache.” 

“Okay.” You thought about the possibilities. Now heartache couldn't be considered to be treated stepmotherly in your time. Almost all songs were about that. Oh, the agony of choice. 

You imagined Dutch, grieving over Anabelle who would never return to him. In your mind he wore black and stared at a sepiacolourded photograph of her, a smiling beauty who once had been his reason to live. 

And there the scales fell from your eyes. Tragic desperately needs tragic. And what was more cruel and tragic than the Titanic? Nothing if it came to unfulfilled, unlived love.  
But could you ever live up to Celine Dion? Not very likely, but then again, nobody here knew how amazing that woman could sing. 

You closed your eyes and exhaled. Then you inhaled. And then you gave _My Heart Will Go On_. Full of feelings and longing breathing and unfulfilled hope.  
Luckily you had sung that song ad nauseam as a teenager – you knew it by heart and even found the courage to look at Javier and then the rest of the gang while singing.

The classic love song was over and you were, too. You had not been prepared for giving a concert.  
Breathless silence enwrapped the camp until Uncle started clapping and the others followed his example. 

“That girl knows how to pull at some heartstrings”, Hosea silently said, wiping his face again. You looked at him, feeling guilty. You knew he thought about his deceased wife Bessie.  
But you had warned them. Your repertoire of sad songs was far from exhausted, ballads were always trendy – so you could cause streams of tears all night long. 

“Why didn't you tell us that you can sing?”, Dutch wanted to know, now more conciliatory than before – mostly because he was sunken in sad thoughts about his lost love. 

“You could have asked Charles or Arthur.” These two had heard you before, though it had been an accident; you had deemed yourself alone. Why hadn't they told Dutch, anyway? Attraction of exclusivity? Probably.  
Dutchs' gaze wandered to the two men, but they just innocently shrugged their shoulders, true to the motto _You didn't even like her enough to actually talk to her._

“And how do they know?”

“They've heard me.” The look you gave him this time was purely neutral. The fact that he hadn't heard one of your performances really wasn't your problem. “So, any wishes?”

“Somethin' happy!”, Mary-Beth cried. “Crying is so sad.”

“Yes, sing something cheerful”, Dutch said challenging you. Did he know you didn't know many of these songs? 

Shit. You had to dig deep for that. But you wouldn't call yourself Car-Karaoke-Master if you wouldn't be able to remember a cheesy, funny song. Thinking you suddenly started grinning.

You tapped the rhythm onto the ground.

“ _I stay up too late, got nothin' in my brain – that's what people say, mhm_ ”, you started to sing, wiggling you head to it. While sitting on the ground moving to the song was incredibly hard. You jumped up and after the half of the first verse of _Shake it off_ you danced around the fire, singing loudly and a bit off-tune, accompanied by Javier who used his guitar rather as a tubular body than a … guitar.

Inviting you danced over to Tilly, who shook her head in horror, but in an instant you had her on her feet and got her to sing the refrain with you, three times in a row.  
Who cared how often you repeated it? You sang so long until Lenny, the girls and even little Jack sang along and danced with you.  
At the end of the song all of you collapsed laughing and panting on the ground, smiling at each other. 

You and the rest of the dancers were still catching a breath as you got up again, this time for good.

“Thank you guys, for being such a great audience”, you smiled and bowed, earning laughters and chuckles from the others. “And since it's always leave them wanting more I'll go to sleep now. Good night.”

“No, don't go just now!”, Karen and Lenny called out.

“You have to sing for us!”, Tilly pouted, then smiled brightly. 

“But I'm tired, I cannot”, you dared to say.  
There you felt a big, heavy hand laying down on your almost naked right shoulder. Somehow you already knew whom it belonged to, before you even looked.  
Still you turned around, to face Arthur – his face was as handsome as ever.  
Did you already mention how terribly beautiful his eyes were, bluish green and clear like a mountain lake. You sighed.

“You ain't gotta stay up for us. But the girls really enjoy it.” He gifted you one of his rare, bashful smile, then nodded towards Javier. “Abigail suggested playing a waltz. Do you know a song for that?”  
He stepped closer and you could smell the soil on him, fresh sweat and cigarettes. Not really a good scent-mixture, not at all erotic or pleasant. But still somehow inciting.  
“And nobody wants to listen to Dutchs' records”, he grinned into your ear. 

You sighed again. Apart from the fact that his beard tickled your earlobe and you were quite sensitive around there – he had a point. In no way you would be able to endure the screaming Italian lady tonight.  
Although you'd rather sing disco-songs instead, the ones with a lot of techno. You missed these already. Waltz was not really your calling.

“A waltz?” Arching your eyebrows you wondered just how musically experienced they thought you were. Of course, songs played on the radio and popsongs, you knew these by heart. Also most of the stuff from the 90s.  
But not category-wise. Did you look like youtube?  
“I can't. Sorry.”

“Any song that you think fits for classic dance. Skuld, please”, Arthur urged. How he must hate that Italian lady. 

You let out a long sigh. “Lemme think.”  
Not that you didn't have any idea. Disney-movies were a good source. But Anastasia was, too. Personally you tended towards Lion King or Beauty and the Beast. Or Tarzan – you knew all the songs. 

So you gave in to his plead, nodded slowly, then went over to Javier.  
Most of the attendees gifted you thankful smiles and Dutch didn't seem to care nobody wanted to listen to his records tonight.

And still the waltz was utterly impossible to sing. Why did they want you to do that?  
You felt snotty and bawly and absolutely not like smooching.  
Yet you felt yourself clearing your throat, forming the decision to go for something different. Spontaneously you had to think about your underdone dancing-lessons you took as a teen. 

They had always played _Hijo de la luna_. If you concentrated enough, you could still hear every word and the melody crystal clear in your head.  
Spanish D, _Hijo de la luna_ would somehow work out.  
You hoped for somebody to find the rhythm since you were fully busy with the lyrics, getting them at least halfway right. Unfortunately you couldn't really care and look who actually danced a waltz to the song. 

Somehow you made it through the song, sometimes floundering and glossing over that with some bullshit – only Javier could see through that, anyway. Still it sounded nice and tragic and the Mexican bravely played his guitar and as you finally dared to look up a smile sneaked onto your lips. John and Abigail were dancing, Tilly and Jack were jumping around. Even Dutch nosed himself and Molly over the place; Mary-Beth had a hold on Arthur and Karen was slowly dancing with Hosea.  
Miss Grimshaw stared at Javier and you, mesmerized, whilst Pearson and Uncle drank bottle after bottle on a table nearby.  
Charles had his eyes closed and noticed probably every mistake you made.

“ _Graciás_ ”, you said to Javier after you finished the song. 

“ _De nada_. But what the hell did you sing?” A curious laugh escaped his lips. 

“It was complete nonsense, right?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

Laughing, you waved it off. “Actually it's about a woman who prays to the moon to get pregnant and her prayers are heard. The child is white as snow, but the parents are Spanish. Big drama.”

“Oh...” He seemed to think about something for a moment. “Teach me some of your songs.”

“But not today, okay?”

“Not tonight. But soon.”

“Okay.”

He lifted his pinky finger, which you hooked with yours immediately. A promise is a promise. Luckily you had not agreed on a fixed date.


	13. Cognita sanator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travelling has always been a hobby for you. Talking with people is easy, and maybe you can get to your destination without any money.

After telling everybody good night you made your way to the sleeping place – taking a small detour to Pearson's wagon to get some food. Additionally to the useful and important things came your toothbrush and some of the early beginnings of toothpaste.  
Nobody here would miss it anyway.

You put on Arthurs' shirt and the jacket, fastened your shoelaces and took the bag in your hands. It wasn't heavy at all. Clutching your sparse luggage you stole out of camp – since everybody was awake, nobody was on watch duty and you could get out unseen. Nonetheless your hands were sweaty.  
A few meters out of camp you stopped. What now? You couldn't steal a horse.  
That would be quite suspicious and you would feel terrible about it. 

The night was – though the sky was dotted with bright stars – rather dark now that there was no firelight in front of you anymore, which was in your favour.  
No horse for you, but you could sneak on a cart easily, using the shadows and the darkness for you.

The nightly breeze softly tucked on the wide sleeves of the big jacket, shreds of clouds thinly veiled the moon and some stars. It was a quiet night and you were far enough from camp to not hear or see any of it by now.  
Although your thoughts circled around what had happened within the last days, you caught yourself imaging your cats and mother more than anything else. You knew you couldn't do a thing right now, but you wondered how they were. If your mother struggled finding you. Were you lost in your world? Were you dead in your world? Or was it still the night you had come here? Did time go by differently?  
Too many questions to ask, too difficult to answer. If even possible.

As you reached the Dakota River, you heard hooves on the ground, the rattling of old cart wheels. Somebody was coming. With a cart. Good.  
Hastily you jumped into a shrub to hide yourself. You wanted to check out who was driving the cart to decide whether or not to jump onto it. Though you would take what you could, you didn't consider yourself suicidal.

Taking shallow breaths you watched the cart come closer. Two horses pulled it. A man sat on the coach box and suddenly a baby started crying. Loudly so.  
The sound came from the back of the cart; a woman joined in, softly singing and talking. The screaming of the baby continued.

 _Ugh, do I really want that?_ , you wondered. _But it could be worse. All men. Old, horny men. This family is probably my best chance._

You took all your courage and got out of the shrubs, scratching your skin a bit. You didn't care. The cart was close enough now.

“Excuse me!”, you called out, waving at the man. “Sir, excuse me!”

With a long “Hoooooo” he stopped the horses, the wheels creaked louder and the baby reached new high tunes. 

“Robert! What's wrong?!”, the woman wanted to know, her voice not soft anymore. She sounded annoyed, tired and worried. 

“There's a lady.” Robert bowed down to get a better look of you.

“Sir, I'm sorry to disturb your travels. May I ask where you're heading?”

“We're gon' go to- goddammit Laura, can't ya shut up the baby already?!”

 _Awkward_. Biting your lower lip, you stared at the family, the unnerved man and the even more stressed out woman. 

“It's not my fault he's got a cold!”, Laura almost cried, then went on cradling the screaming child. Though, the baby didn't seem to be all too soothed by that. 

“Well, it's not my fault either, woman! Just sh-”

“A cold, you say?”, you dared to interrupt. After all, you're doctor. Well, a medicine student, but that was still better than any doctor they could be offered around here. “Sir, Ma'am, I'm a doctor. May I help you?”

“A doctor?”, Robert didn't sound all too convinced, eyeing you suspiciously. “What kind of doct-”

“Miss, please! Out lil' Timothy has this cold for a week now an' I ain't know what to do 'nymore. He's in so much pain. Won't stop crying.” 

Obviously their situation was worse than thought. Why on earth were they travelling in this still chilly weather with a sick baby? Were they on the run from something? Did they try to outrun some loan sharks? Did Herr Strauss sent Arthur to collect the debt from them?

“A week now?” With the bag in your right hand you went to the back part of the cart to climb on it. You sat beside Laura, whose brown eyes were weary and reddened. She seemed to be so tired of everything. 

“Yes, Miss. Jus' won't stop cryin'.” The woman cradled the child a bit. 

“May I take a look at him? Do you have a lamp?” You put your bag at your side, sitting down cross-legged. Cautiously you took the baby, which was wrapped in a few layers of cloth to keep it warm. It's cheeks were flushed, eyes bright.

“Y-yes...” Laura rummaged through the stuff on the cart. While searching for a lantern or something the likes, she suddenly turned to her husband. “Robert, don't stare like that. Get us goin'. This lady's helpin' us. I ain't gonna let that chance slip.”

“Whatever you say, woman...”, Robert mumbled, then goaded the horses on. 

Softly the cart jiggled. Finally Laura found a lamp and set it alight. 

“Does that work for ya?”

“Just fine”, you smiled encouragingly at the woman who surely was younger than you. Probably around twenty-one or something like that. Actually, thinking about it like that, the young mother was almost a girl herself. 

With the better lightning you now were able to actually take a closer look at the babys' face. Lil' Timothy screamed and cried and coughed terribly. Carefully you palpated his neck to feel the lymph nodes. They were swollen a bit.  
His skin was soft and warm, baby-skin. But not hot. No fever, luckily.

As you slowly split the cloth on the chest of the baby, big blue eyes stared at you, heavy breaths heaved and lowered the small chest.  
Carefully you tilted your head, resting your ear on the sking of his tiny, soft chest, holding your breath doing so. The baby smelled clean and small and innocent. 

How you wished for proper utensils. You'd kill for a stethoscope or a clinical thermometer.  
As Timothy took his breath, you could hear soft rattling in his lungs. 

_Tiny human, you need antibiotics_ , you thought, closing the clothes around the baby again, shielding it against the cold air. Holding Timothy close to you, you considered the options you had for treating the sickness. Nothing you would prescribe in 2019, obviously.

“Miss... can you heal him?”

“Oh, I bet I can”, you mumbled, rather to yourself. “You need antibiotics, high humidity and fresh air... at least we got the air.”

“W-what are antibiotics?” The mother crouched closer to you, tears dwelling up in her tired eyes. It was obvious that she felt helpless in this situation. 

“Uh, nothin', really. Something natural.” 

And there something clicked in your mind. Of course! Something natural. You didn't have the means to actually make some proper penicillin, but you sure could get a hold on honey and onions and garlic and the likes.  
Not even half a year ago you had even made your own cough mixture, three onions and seven tablespoons full of honey. 

“How old is Timothy?”

“Five months”, Laura said, taking the baby back into her arms.

 _That's too young for honey_ , you thought, staring at the small human. _But what choice do I have? If this goes on and he gets fever, he probably won't make it. If I give him honey he might not tolerate the contained bacteria._

But like Pratibha Patil, an Indian lawyer, once said _One should always be ready to face difficult situations and take risk also_ you decided to go for the risk.  
You would try that honey-onion liquid.

“Ma'am, I could make a syrup that may help your lil' one to recover from the cough. For that I need onions and honey. You got that here?”

“N-no...will he... will he...?” Fear glistened in her eyes as Laura stared down onto her child, cradling him to soothe him. 

“No, he won't die that fast”, you chimed in before she had to say it. It was always terrible to think about the possibility that a loved person might die, but to actually say it – that was even worse. “Where are ya headin'?”

“Strawberry.”

“When will we arrive?”

“Who said we're gonna take ya with us?”, Robert grumbled at the two of you. Obviously he didn't like hitchhikers at all. Probably it was best for the small family to not trust anybody on their way. These roads were full of bandits and dangerous gangs who would kill for not even a dollar. 

“ _I_ say that! We take 'er to Strawberry or Blackwater or Emerald Ranch or wherever she wanna go if she heals our baby, you ungrateful baboon!”, Laura shouted, causing little Timothy to screech again. Sighing she held him closer, glancing over to you. “You _will_ come with us, won't ya?”

“Of course, Ma'am.”

“Please, call me Laura. I'm Laura. What's your name?”

“My friends call me Skuld.”

“I'm glad you're here, Skuld. Please, it'll take us some hours to get to Strawberry. Sleep, if ya want”, she offered, vaguely gesturing over the cart. “It's not very comfortable but it'll do.”

“Thank you, Laura”, you smiled and leaned against the wood, putting your bag between your now crossed legs. Yawning you looked up into the nightsky, slowly becoming drowsy.

Out of the corners of your eyes you saw two ravens silently flying above the cart.


	14. Onward

Strawberry, the town for tourists, the town that has everything. A small river, mountains nearby for those who fancy hiking, forests for those who want to enjoy silence and moderate climate.  
Of course, this town also can offer the tired traveller two highly comfortable and appealing hotels. 

_The streets are clean, folks, we have a doctor, a butcher – don't worry, they're not the same person, haha – a general store and every Thursday the book-club meets at the Welcome Center Hotel_ , you thought while making your way towards the general store to get some honey and onions. Laura had given you two dollars to get the things you needed.

Pale morning light painted everything in pinkish pastel colours, the shadows were strangely translucend.  
Opening the door to the general store the scent of wood, booze and coffee hit you – so very different from the green and muddy smell outside that you stopped mid-motion to take everything in properly. 

Though you had napped on the cart, you hadn't really slept. You hadn't brought up the courage to fully trust the family – although Laura had been keen to let you know that they would never dare harm the person helping them.  
A thing you knew from the game was that no everybody was trustworthy and that one should take ones time to make thoughtful decision.

“G'mornin'!”, the shop-owner called out, causing you to look up again. 

Right, you wanted to lose some money in here. 

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Miss, you're new to town, I can tell!”, he said, still cheerful, halfway coming around his desk to get a closer look at you.

“It's not hard to tell that”, you grinned and went to the shelf in which you'd spotted onions and other vegetables. 

“Never seen one like you, Miss. Not that it's mah business”, he continued talking. Slowly tucking on your nerves, too. 

“Yes, the hair comes from a rare disease”, you said, grabbed three onions, then went to the man who looked at you curiously – but now, after knowing you had a _rare disease_ , also a bit cautiously. You smiled politely. “It's passed down in my family, not contagious at all.”

“Oh... I'ma sure sorry to hear that, Miss.”

“So, you have any honey here?” Complete change of subject, but you didn't want stay in here longer than necessary.

“Sure, Miss. Honey's healthy and sweet. Bet ya have a taste for the sweet things”, he half-grinned, half-smiled while rummaging through a small shelf close to his desk, searching for the perfect honey for you. 

_This man is also a punishment for me_ , you decided. Why were some men so straining? Hard to endure, really, though you knew he probably didn't want to be pushy – it was just his way of dealing with customers. 

“Yah, sure have”, you forced a smile while paying for the few things. “Thanks for your help, Mister. See ya.” Before he could reply you had already turned your back and left the store, greedily taking the fresh air outside in.

Back at the cart – which was abandoned right now, Laura and little Timothy were taking a walk and Robert was … you didn't quite know what exactly he was doing; you didn't really care, either – you took one of the empty bottling jars and a knife.  
Rather unenthusiastically you chopped the onions, felt the familiar burn in your eyes and grew more annoyed by the second. No way you could wipe away the tears with your onion-hands now, it would only worsen the pain. But you needed to see what you were chopping! Human fingers and honey just wouldn't do the trick. 

After you had managed to mince the onions to your satisfaction, you put them into the jar, followed by round about ten tablespoons of honey. But since you had to pour the honey into the jar, you had to guess – you decided that your gut feeling would be fine enough for that since you'd done it before. 

You took a look around. Still no sign of Robert or Laura.  
But you needed to get on. Staying in Strawberry for just a night was out of question.  
Blackwater was calling you. 

Deeply sighing you went back to the store and bought a piece of paper and a pencil.  
With that you sat yourself onto the steps of The Trackers Hotel and scratched your chin. 

_Dear Laura, dear Robert, I'm sorry I had to leave in such a hurry. I have some business in Blackwater to attend. I left the jar with the syrup on your cart. Leave the mixture in there until tomorrow evening, then pour the liquid into another jar. Give Timothy every morning and evening half a tablespoon full of it until it's used up. I hope he gets better soon. Yours sincerely, Skuld._

You left the note on the cart, hoping they were able to read it.

One day later you found yourself in Blackwater – you had managed to scrounge your way here. From cart to cart, meal to meal. Showing some cleavage, innocently bowing forward while waiting for the next man to go by with his cart. Like this you got forward completely for free.  
Although you knew that you shouldn't use your body as bait to get from one destination to the other you didn't feel bad about it. With no money at all you could not really be picky, especially since you'd left a safe cart with thankful companions behind in Strawberry. 

But as long as the men were just staring you had no problem with it. You knew they were gaping at you, imaging the most inappropriate things – that wasn't new to you so you could deal with that. 

Still you only choose carts with women on them for your travels – that made you feel safer. You even allowed yourself to doze off a bit once and were glad that they hadn't robbed you in your light sleep. Though, there was not much to rob, so there's that. 

While relaxing on the carts you thought about the work you had, which financed your study. You dreamt about anamnesis questionaires, about record cards, not listed accounts. You thought about the pile of laundry in your basement flat, about the many plants your mother now had to take care of.  
But most of all Madame wondered if anybody was ever born as dumb as you were or if that just came later in life.  
Just to think about wanting to change the past.

Blackwater was quite unlike Strawbery. It was surrounded by dry ground, the sun was hot in the sky, there was not much to be seen in this dull place, except maybe the haven at the Flat Iron Lake.  
This town had not much to offer, it was a town with a lake, it didn't even have a train station, but there was a theatre and a few fancy shops and a pretty restaurant.

You waved the couple who had taken with you for the last two miles goodbye and set off for the general store.  
Poor as you were you managed to urge the shop owner to lend you his shovel for free – in exchange you agreed to take a photograph with him, because he really adored your silverish-white hair and your whole appearance. A bit dusty maybe, but still nicely smelling and very, very mysterious. 

You had granted him his wish and so you found yourself at the border of Blackwater, equipped with the shovel and your bag.  
It was night. Above you the sky was clear, stars sparkled coldly on the firmament. The moon was a big pale patch between them.

The town in your back vibrated with nightlife, drunkards called out profanities and women scolded them in return. Muffled neighing filled the air, paired with the constant swishing of the waves from the lake.

You sighed. Somewhere here had to be the money, in the whereabouts of the group of rocks in front of you.  
Though you doubted that Dutch had gone as far as to actually remove one of these big boys to hide his casket underneath it, you thought it realistic that he had hidden it under some screes.  
Just thinking about the act to get all these stones moved evoked some feeling of annoyance – and, of course, curiosity about how much money he had hidden there.

It's amazing what greed, necessity, and morosity can make people do. They become all reckless, overworking themselves, not even thinking about giving in to pain or defeat. They work while drenched in sweat, they work through aching muscles – they ignore their bodies in order to achieve the thing they think is worth it.

With exactly that fierceness you rammed the shovel into the ground; in short breaks you allowed yourself to drink some water – you wondered if you had ever drunken that much in your life before. As a consequence you had to pay the nearby shrubs some more visits, unfortunately you had forgotten to take a pee-cloth with you. Instead, you used some well-tolerated plant-leaves.  
In case you got a rash you'd know where it came from.

In your head some songs looped, it felt like you were digging for an eternity. Sweat rolled down from your forehead, your neck and down your back. Your calves were cramped, not to mention your arms.  
You huffed and panted and cursed Dutch. 

To your luck nobody used the nearby street, you were all alone in your digging-misery and as the sun slowly climbed over the treetops of the distant forest, you filled up the holes again, took your stuff and headed for the lake.

There you put the bag and the shovel down behind a hedge, protected from curious stares. Hastily you got rid of your dirty clothes, covered in dust and soil and sweat, and threw them onto your bag.  
Without hesitation you jumped into the cold water – your skin prickled as the air got pressed out of your lungs from the temperature-difference. You dived into the dark water, held your breath, then got back up to the surface, gasping.  
The water smelled like a clean lake, like freshwater fish. A bit like an artificial pond, but not as stale and irksome. 

Although you were worked up and all muscles felt sore, you forced yourself to swim a bit around, paddling up and down. You rubbed the cold water under your armpits and washed yourself as much as it was possible in these circumstances.  
You hadn't planned to actually stay here for more than one day, but during daytime the streets were more lively and you just couldn't risk getting caught doing shady stuff.  
Now you had to stay here for another day, awaiting the night.

After your chilling bath you put back on your dirty clothes and sat down beside the lake, slowly chewing on an apple and a bit of hard bread. To think that that kind of food would satisfy you since you were quite an epicurean.  
Each and every meal was celebrated in a way, excluding cheese. Bread had to be fresh, best served with pickles and salami or Brie and pine nuts. Decadent. And a bit of a poor-folk-food if one left the pine nuts away. 

Well, _maybe_ you were not as much an epicurean than an overeater. That was closer to the truth. Just like Gombóc Artúr, in eastern Germany also known as _Kloßvogel Artur_ , who ate all the chocolate. Old chocolate, left over chocolate, nibbled on and thrown away chocolate, chocolate in form of liquor and chocolate in general.  
_Yes_ , you thought, _I may be Kloßvogel Artur. There are things I'm not ashamed of – something like that for example._

“Miss, are you lost?”

“You're blockin' the light.”

“Well, you better check who you're talking to before you start getting cheeky.” The man, who stood in a way that totally blocked the light, leading to the fact that you couldn't see his face properly, sounded rather less enamoured of your words.

So you grimly stared up, noticing the fancy clothes the man wore. He had to be in his mid-forties, although he looked ten years older at least. His face was covered with acne-scars. On his head sat one of these terrible and ugly black bowler hats. You thought this hat was truly an abomination, the worst kind of hat. 

“You still block the sunlight”, you said, thoughtfully and bit into your apple. Somehow that face reminded you of someone. But your current state of sleep-deprivation had robbed you of every dioptre you didn't have.

“Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency”, he introduced himself, in quite a farouche manner but didn't step aside to let you see his face. Very unlikeable. But convenient.

You eyed the man appraisingly and decided that this, in fact, came in very handy. Quite so. You put a nice smile on your face. 

“Nancy”, you said, stood up and offered him your hand, which he reluctantly shook. He already wore gloves and you were freshly washed clean by the lake. “Well, Mister Milton, you said I seem to be lost?”

“Indeed. A young woman, particular to that, at the lake, all alone? With little to no baggage and no man to protect her? That is either quite suspicious or you are lost. _Are_ you alone, Miss?”, he immediately started the interrogation. You could clearly see the nice black leather weapon belt on his waistband.

“You're right about that. I'm alone. I am passing through.”

“Miss Nancy – if I may call you like that?” Still wary of you, but thanks to your clothing a tad more conciliable. 

“Sure.”

“Miss Nancy, may I ask, what are you doing here?”

“I wanna try my luck as a bounty hunter. Either it works out or it doesn't – a worse fate than death cannot await me. And I thought, why not start here?” You shrugged your shoulders and took another bite of the apple. “Why? You got something for me?”

“A girl like you – a bounty hunter?”

“I'm more robust than it seems.” Appraising stares from both sides.

“Well, at the Sheriff's place you can find wanted posters.”

“And the good stuff? Those profitable ones?”

“We get these.” He looked at you winningly. “Why?” 

“Mister Milton, not only am I a hardy devil; I'm quite specialized in finding people who don't wanna be found. Which bounty is the one causing you trouble?”, you asked in the most impudent way possible, a grin gracing your face. In your mind an idea formed, the best one you had since you had started your studies. “Lemme guess. It's a whole group. More than seven people. Expensive stuff for the person hiring you.”

“How did you guess that?” He seemed surprised and you had to suppress a really tainted grin. 

“I got hidden talents. So?”

“Come with me, Miss Nancy. I'll treat you to a proper bath and a meal. Then we can discuss any further details if you still are interested.”

“Clearly.” 

You packed your stuff and followed the man to the saloon in town.  
As you arrived there, you were allowed to hand off your bag and shovel and were immediately led towards the bathroom.  
The lady left you alone with the huge wooden bathtub and the smell of dust and soap.

Again you put off your clothes and just let them fall on the floor, then you happily threw yourself into the bathtub which was filled with hot soapy water. Enthusiastically you scrubbed yourself clean, washed your hair and face, brushed your teeth with the water – which was actually there to be consumed – and then you just lay there.  
You felt light in the warmth, you almost forgot about your aching body. Feeling clean was nice. Laying in warm water was nice. Relaxing was nice. Every deep breath of the heavy, humid air was nice. 

In the meantime a girl had collected your dirty laundry, in exchange for fresh ones. Hopefully you'd get your schlock back again, you needed it. 

As the water was almost cold you climbed out of the tub – Mister Milton was not to be delayed for too long –, dried yourself and put on the fresh clothes. Now you were dressed in a dark green blouse and black trousers with suspenders. Fancy. They had even considered giving you underwear. And no bra. And no corset, to that.

_Freedom for boobies_ , you thought while going down the stairs to get into the actual saloon.

The room had green wallpapers, red curtains and red chairs. The bar was made from some dark wood – the whole place emitted an atmosphere of sophistication paired with the desperate need to get knocked out of reality as fast as possible. 

Agent Milton was already waiting for you on a well-laid table. In front of him were two glasses. One filled with some sort of alcohol – you assumed it was whiskey – and one filled with water. That one was for you. 

Politely you smiled at him and sat down. This man was a huge chunk of slime. His whole being completely nauseating. 

“I hope you don't mind me giving you fresh clothes.”

“As long as I can keep my old ones”, you said and took a sip of water. Oh how fresh and nice that was! “So, Mister Milton, what can you tell me about your … problem?”

“Currently we are searching for a dangerous gang of bandits and murderers.” He leaned forward, as if he was sharing a secret with you. “It's the Van der Linde-gang. A bunch of outlaws. They did have luck up to now and could get out of our way just in time to hide away.”

“And what did they do, except robbing and killing people? Somebody has hired you after all.”

“Clever words for a woman.” He shook his head. “The gang has robbed the wrong man. Mr. Cornwall is not a man to be challenged and mocked like that.”

“How much is the bounty?”, you wanted to know.

“There's a reward for Mr. van der Linde of eight thousand dollars. For his three most trusted men the reward is five thousand dollars. And for each and every other gang member it'll be three thousand – even for women and children.”

“And … how many people are in that gang?” Not that you didn't know. But you wanted to get the calculation done. Also, so much money! No surprise all world was after them. What on earth were you doing here? This was a highly dangerous game you started to play now.

“Counting the leader in they're nineteen.”

You knew they were more, but whatever. You calculated, making a rough estimation of what you could earn. If you wanted to get rid of Micah and one or two of the others. “Are we talking about a bounty worth sixty-eight thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“And if I get a hold of the gang – what's in it for me?”

“Besides fame and appreciation? A third of the bounty. The rest belongs to the agency, since we'll be the ones equipping you.”

You started thinking about this seriously. A third of eleven thousand, that would be round about three thousand and seven hundred dollars. Not much for the trouble. Not enough to help the gang restart life.  
And since you only wanted to turn in Micah and Dutch, there was not much more money to be made out of that. Micah, of course, had to be turned in dead. Fifty-eight stabs, booked. 

“Half. I'm the one who will be in danger. I have to find the people. It's still a hard task.”

“Four tenths.”

“Excuse me, are … are you kidding me? I said half.”

“Half.”

You shook hands over the table and you got your clothes back – washed and dried and smelling good. The meal, which you were allowed to eat on your own, was on Mr. Milton.   
Additionally he had given you his business card for you to stay in contact.   
And now you called a very new, very well-maintained revolver your own. 

Well, it would be even better if you were able to handle the weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe for the syrup acutally works. It's nothing I made up.  
> It's a common home remedy in Germany for simple coughs and colds, though it tastes terrible. You chop four onions, pour ten tablespoons of honey over it, stirr it and leave it in a closed jar for a day. Then you pour the liquid into another jar and dispose of the onions. Then you take each day - morning, midday and evening - a tablespoon full of that.  
> Please keep in mind that honey is not safe for children under 1 year and that you should still go see a doctor if you're sick. This syrup alone most likely won't cure you completely, it will just fasten it.


	15. Gold Digger

For the rest of the day you loafed around town, visited the small wooden church, the puny haven, noticed all these wanted poster who depicted Dutch and Hosea quite realistically, bought a small book – from your exchange in Strawberry – and a pencil.  
You strolled around for a while, then found yourself at the churchyard. 

There you read some of the gravestones' inscriptions – you had to giggle at the ones that said _Told you I was sick_ and _Here lies dear ol' Fred, a rock hit his head_ \- and found to your surprise the grave of Dutch's mother.  
Not that you really were that surprised, but you had not given this thing a single thought.

You stepped closer to the simple brownish grey stone, cautious not to step onto the soil directly in front of it – you rather approached it from the side. Most of the time you were a hardened witch, but never a defiler of graves.  
_Greta van der Linde – Loving mother to her son Dutch – 1835-1881 – There was grace in her steps, love in every gesture._ She had only reached 46 years.  
If she only knew what her son was about to do right now and what he had already done – she'd turn around in her grave. 

Following a sudden afflatus you sat down beside the grave and memorized the inscription. It felt right to do so.  
You drank a bit water, enjoyed the hot sun on your face and felt like a human being again. Not like a punching ball of destiny. No. You had taken action to actually change something – even if it meant that the gang would probably not let you in no more.  
There was always a price for protecting and saving loved ones – this may be yours.  
And although that thought filled you with a certain dusty uneasiness, you would not go back on what you started here. 

Somewhen you got up again, walked around the level country, amazed at just how dry grass could be – but you didn't expect anything else since this was the wilder and more feral west.  
After some time you found what you had been looking for: flowers. You picked some and formed a small but pretty wreath.

You brought it back to the grave of Greta and put it on the ground in front of the stone.  
The sky above you wallowed itself in the glowing colours of the sunset, it was covered in golden orange and blood-red – glowing so intense it caused you to think that the buildings were lit by firelight.  
As dull as this place was, the light-spectacle was pretty.

The rest of the time until it was completely dark you used to scribble down passionate things for Mary-Beth, things that made every decent girl burn with shame. You'd make sure to watch the young woman closely while she would read it. Giggling you described the leading character like Mary-Beth.

Night! Finally!  
Endearing darkness swallowed the town, drowning out every sound of daytime.  
Now was your time to get to work again.  
You headed for the rocks again, scouted the surroundings for unwelcome audience and as you were sure there was nobody following or ambushing you, you started to dig again.

Digging was arduous, harder than the first time, your muscles felt like burning steel ropes on full tension, vibrating more with every movement. You suffered the pain you deserved, so you stifled the whining which wished to escape your mouth to ease your mind.  
In the sweat of your brow you suddenly imagined what your family would think about your situation.  
They wouldn't be fond of it at all. 

You sister would have taken all the money of the gang and hit the road to find her luck with a rich, handsome man somewhere, probably Saint Denis. In her opinion you – and only you – were responsible for your misery and should enjoy it as much as possible in form of suffering.  
And your mum, well, she would have pity on the gang. But you knew her well enough to know that she would try to get a job as a housekeeper to avoid all the blood-shedding. She'd rather do a bit of laundry, even if it meant to do it by hand. Or she would sit with Hosea to make real good plans.

Sighing you shrugged your shoulders and wondered how they were doing now, if time went on slower or faster since your disappearing – if anybody had noticed by now or if people had already started searching for you. You hoped for none of these. 

And while being caught in thoughts, the shovel suddenly banged against something hard – the creaky impact sent a disgusting vibration through your arm, crawling up your arm, causing you to stop immediately. Shocked about your inattention you gulped.  
Just how deep had you been in your mind again? 

You looked down into the hole, decided you didn't see much in the dense darkness and cautiously digged on, around the thing in the ground.  
While doing so, the clouds slowly released the moon to shine down onto you – and into the hole. Its light got reflected from a sliverish black box.  
Without a lock.  
There was nothing written on it that you could see now and except the small bump caused by the shovel it was undamaged. 

“Jackpot”, you whispered enthralled. Biting your lower lip, you smiled winningly. You put the shovel aside and kneeled down to get the box out of the hole.  
Before you even thought to open it, you hastily filled the hole up again and stomped on the soil to make it even again. As much as possible.  
Then you grabbed your bait, stuffed it into the bag and went away from this place.

Hidden in a silent, shut off corner behind some bigger rocks and brambles you put on the jacket and then took the box out of the bag. Your heart beat fast and you felt a bit weak. You had it. Everything the gang had worked for within the last years – all the money, gold; all their means for freedom were in here.  
You licked your dry lips and started opening the box. If felt cool and rough in your sore hands. Crunching the hinges gave in and you could lift the top. 

In front of your eyes bank notes oozed out of the box, you could see two gold bars right away and – though you could see it, it was hard to comprehend – you noticed that the bank notes were all marked _500_ and _1000_ and even _5000_. You gulped harder as you saw some fucking _10.000_ notes. You felt sick. In this damned box were definitely more than seventy fucking thousand dollars!  
_What the clusterbuck do I do with that?!_ You panicked. So much money. All in your hands. Defenceless despite the revolver. 

Now you could understand why everybody was kinda keen to get back here to get the money back. Silently you gagged and you coughed until you had yourself under control again.  
For a second you felt the urge to set it all ablaze and watch the riches burn away. And you with it. How in the world were you supposed to get the money safely back to the gang?  
You were sure that all the gangsters and outlaws could smell the bank notes on you. 

And, on completely other news, did you even _want_ to bring the money back to the gang? What was in for them? And, most of all, what was in for you? Nothing. Well, you wouldn't have thing of it. Somehow.  
Still they all were wanted, dead or alive – rather dead if it came to how Mr. Cornwall wanted to see them. 

How to act creatively? Until you had figured something you would carry the money with you. Or, even better, get it to a bank in Saint Denis. It was well guarded. Better than the one in Blackwater. But how to get there? Perhaps you'd decide for Blackwater, after all you were already here. And the gang could not come here now. The money would be safe.  
Carefully you glanced around and decided to leave it in these parts of West Elizabeth.  
_You_ could always return to Blackwater, after all.

Being a woman has never been easy, except may thousands of years ago when they were seen as goddesses for birthing children, for giving life. Since then much has changed and from being viewed in awe they now had to fight for their right to be treated like human beings.  
And now you came to enjoy the feeling of being less than a man. 

You had waited for around three hours now, saw men pass by as soon as they had entered the building – with the same query you had. You had seen them go through the door which felt was your endboss today. Heard them laugh trustworthy, saw them take off their hats and stepping into the holy grail of room with lowered heads.  
You had your hand folded in your lap, head leaned against the wall. Hot anger welled up in you and it took all your concentration – and biting the insides of your cheeks – to not explode any second.

After three and a half hours – thanks to the clock across you, you knew exactly – you got called into the room of rooms in this building.  
But as you entered, it was empty. Nobody was awaiting you. Taking in a deep and wrathful breath you sat down into the fancy green armchair.

Other than expected, the man whom you were waiting for returned after only ten minutes, giving you an apologetic smile. He was followed and shrouded by the stench of his Eau de Anti-Stinker – you were annoyed right away by that and his ugly pomaded hairdo, not to mention his whole smarmy appearance.  
As he sat down, you imaged hearing his suit crunching like paper – it was made of silk and so shiny it seemed unreal. He put the tips of his fingers together, eyeing you critically above them. Madame didn't like him at all.  
And judging from the look he gave you, it was time for introduction, the staring was over.

“So you want to open an account and don't live here?”, he asked – for the third time now, only worded differently. 

You had the urgent suspicion that the man was quite absent-minded. Not paying too much attention to you. 

“Yes”, you nodded politely. Your mother hadn't raised a fulltime-dumbass. Manners were a thing and they were cherished and lived in this house. 

“May I ask why you choose this establishment?”

“I've heard a lot of good about it and I want my money to be safe.”

“And which amount would you want to trust us with?”

You had counted everything in the box this morning, in between all the bank notes and the gold bars you had cried a bit. Dutch and his gang had scored $153.678,49. Why they had wanted to rob that ferry so desperately you didn't know. And now, seeing all the riches, you couldn't grasp any sense in it at all anymore. They would have had enough money for each of them to start a new life somewhere else.

You had always thought of yourself as _The Greed_. But obviously it was Dutch who was worth of that title. Every modern theatre would hire him with the greatest pleasure for that role.

“It's rather respectable.”

“Are you married?”

Yes or no? Lie or truth? To you it was irresistibly tempting to just tell him that you were a single woman on the loose, not willing to commit yourself to a man for the sake of a bank account.  
But then, in order to lie about having a husband, you had no ring, no certificate or anything that would designate you as somebody's Mrs.

Lie it was, then. “My fiancé died of tuberculosis and willed me all his savings, together with his inheritance”, you lied, cast down your eyes and bashfully bit your lower lip. “We wanted to marry... but then his parents.. they died in a storm on sea. And... and then.. then Henry got.... tuberculosis is a terrible sickness.” You sighed sadly and managed a resigning shrug of your shoulders, you even sniffed. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh, please, Miss – there is no reason to force yourself to keep your countenance. You have my sincere compassion. You see, I am constrained to ask for every customers background.” His gaze became softer, almost sympathetic.  
Men were truly clueless, not to say _stupid_. Your play worked and that was all that counted, and it did so in your favour which was even better.

“I... I understand that. Thank you for your condolences...” You rummaged through your ugly, big bag. “This is all I have. Henry's … inheritance... his money. And all I've saved – for my dress.” With your hand you wiped your eyes and hoped for them to shine more than usual, letting out a small sob. Your mother had most certainly raised a fulltime-dumbass, a lying one to that.  
You put the money on the table. “That's one-hundred-fifty-three-thousand dollars.” That you'd kept a bit more than six-hundred dollars to you was a secret nobody needed to know – it was reserved for something else, more important. 

Time seemed to stand still while the man in front of you lost his composure. It slowly crumbled down his face, like grout falls off an old building, and disappeared in between all the bank notes and coins and gold bars on the table in front of him. His mouth lost all its natural tension and his jaw dropped open.

“W-which … what's the name of the account holder?”, he finally stammered, his eyes still fixed on the immense amount of American freedom.

“Nancy Renard.” That was a fitting surname, French for fox. And such one you were, clever and versatile.

“Well, now... Miss Renard, it's a honour doing business with you. Please fill in this form for me.” Handing you a yellowish DIN-A4-form and a fancy pen he didn't put his pale blue eyes off you.

Carefully you read through it. Bank account going on your “name”, no other beneficiary, the bank had the authority to transfer your money if a threat appeared – things like a huge gang of bandits, flood, etc. - and only you were allowed to withdraw money. Annual percentage rate was at 2,6%. That was a huge improvement thinking about the percentage rate in 2019 in Germany. There you could only get offered negative interest for storing your money at a bank. 

You asked for a copy of the contract and inquired about the possibility of the bank getting robbed – what would happen to you who had trusted your money to them?  
The bank-dude promised the money would be refunded, of course, and you wanted to get that in written form, too. You got it and you got the copy of everything you and him had signed and were satisfied with it.  
Politely you thanked him and left the building.

As you stepped into the sun, you grinned. Money makes all people do, as you knew.

Temptation tucked on your neck, whispered to you to go back and get some more money, withdraw immediately, buy a horse or something like that. You declined, with an aching heart. How much you wished to do mischief now that nobody could control your actions.  
While taking a few steps outside you suddenly thought about how things would be after you returned to the gang. 

What would you tell them? You had not wasted a single thought to that. Kidnapped by O'Driscolls – the adversarial gang? Or just say it's because you had been on your period? What if you got it just then? Hard to explain and rather incredible. Maybe you had suffered a cabin fever. Not so good, either, since you had made some friends already.  
You just couldn't take Micah no more. But Charles and Javier protected you from that fleabag.

Lost in thoughts you went back to the general store and gave back the shovel. The owner allowed you to use his private room to change. There you put on your original black satin ensemble and your worn out sneakers and your socks.  
The clothes you got from Mr. Milton went straight into the bag, except the belt with the revolver. That one you put on.  
Somehow it didn't fit to the rest of the outfit, but who cared? Not you. 

So you rented a stagecoach and slept all the way up to Valentine. Nothing better than a nice, long, undisturbed nap.


	16. Credit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On your return to Valentine you notice that not much time has passed and you were still living in Chapter 2; which was nice.  
> Not long after you get a chance to prove your worth for the group, making up for vanishing without a Goodbye.

As you were casually strolling towards the saloon something caught your eye at the side of the stables. A cart which you recognized too well.  
Entertaining a bad gut feeling, you kept going towards the general store which was placed right beside the saloon.  
Like suspected Arthur and Uncle also were on their way to the store, walking a bit ahead of you. Close enough for you to listen to their conversation, though.

So, of course, you did. 

“So that's how you see yourself, is it? A maniac?”, Arthur took up their conversation from before. Uncle had been saying something halfway dumb, you were sure of that.

“Well, in my youth, I used to be known as the _one-shot kid_.”

“Okay... I'm not gonna ask why.”

Arthur and you knew exactly why. Disgusting. 

“You're a sad man, Arthur Morgan. But I know you love me.” Uncle went up the few stairs to get out of the mud of the street. Arthur followed.  
Just like you, without them noticing.

“Desperately... you're my favourite parasite”, Arthur teased. “No... ringworm's my favourite parasite, you're my second favourite parasite.”

“Very funny.”

You for your part held some distance to the two men, taking care they didn't see you when they arrived at the store. Any time one of them could turn their head and see you.  
You wanted to be able to giggle to yourself undisturbed. Because to you, yes, this was very funny. 

“I lied... ringworm, then rats with the plague, then you.”

“Shut up... this is the place, now. Come on.” Now Uncle didn't seem to be in such a good mood anymore, understandable to you.  
If somebody you liked would tease and anger you like that – well, you wouldn't be all too chill about it, neither. So, you felt Uncle in a way. Though, you'd just bite back.

The men went into the store and you heard them greeting the shop-owner like decent folks do while you sat yourself onto a bench on the porch of the shop.  
Sitting there, you felt people staring at you – which didn't bother you in the least.

It would surely take some minutes until the two would be finished in the store.  
In the meantime you managed to ponce a cigarette from a passerby. You enjoyed the ciggy more than you should have on that porch, taking in the smell of livestock and mud.  
Suddenly you were hit by the thought that you had been away for a few days now. If you wanted to get back to camp, you better have an explanation. 

Something, anything really. Important was that it worked. You leaned your head against the window of the shop and sighed.  
Then you went on smoking that cigarette. Running away really wasn't for you. Never been, actually.  
So you just appreciated the warm sunlight on your face, the scratch of smoke in your throat, the taste of tobacco in your mouth and the feeling of completely self-chosen asociality.

“...when you're do-”

You recognized the voice which was stopping right there. Uncle just came out of the store. You didn't grant him the satisfaction to look or talk to him. Much rather you kept on relaxing and taking drags on that cigarette.

“Arthur!”

_Yes, Arthur. Come on out and save Uncle from this awkward situation._ Which, in fact, hadn't even started being awkward. It was just a tiny bit strange.  
The door of the store swung open and you heard a sharp intake.

“You.”

Finally you slowly turned your head to face the two men, keeping a straight face. “You.”

“What are ya doin' here?” Arthur stepped in front of you, blocking the sunlight. That definitely seemed latent familiar to you – no-fun guarantee here. 

“I'm resting.”

“From what?”

“Private matters”, you evaded the question, solely for the reason that you hadn't decided for a lie by now. 

“You see, told ya she'd come back.”

“You only said that to annoy Dutch”, Arthur shot back, clearly annoyed himself, not putting his eyes off you. As if he was afraid you would just get up and leave again.  
Completely unrelated to that situation your brain graced you with reminding you what Arthur had said while _Truth or Dare_. Inappropriate. And unpleasant.

Without another word he sat down at your side, staring at the hotel on the opposite side of the street. He waited until Uncle had seated, too, then he turned to you again. 

“Why did you leave?”

“Like I sai-”

“I didn't mean it like that...” He ran his fingers through his thick sand-coloured hair. “Why didn't you say anything? The girls were worried senseless when they found out you're gone.”

You didn't say a thing and felt like shit. The others. Right. You egoswine. To leave the group behind just to go after your own shabby plans. How could you? Feeling guilty you swallowed hard and sunk in a bit.

“I... well, Dutch's made it clear that he doesn't trust me enough to let me... you know... be on my own from time to time. That's why I sneaked away”, you slowly said. “I didn't want to frighten the others.”

“Well, you did.”

“Finally you two stubborn blockheads get along! Lord, my prayer's been heard”, Uncle slandered and drank from his whiskey-bottle – the one he'd just bought a few minutes ago. 

“What?” Arthur and you stared at the man equally outraged.

“Please, guys. Everybody in camp can see you two get along. Why the hell did ya even start with that... that overly formal friendly shit?”, the older one ranted on. 

“I hope I'm mishearing!”, you called out, hastily sucking on your cigarette. “Once in my fuckin' life I'm a decent person towards others and _then_ I get criticised for that?!” You would stay overly formal friendly until Arthur started talking in a normal manner to you.

“I wouldn't call that frie-”

“SKULD!!” The squeal destroyed the halfway peaceful mood and you reflexively turned your head – just to see Mary-Beth storming towards you. Tears shimmered in her eyes and her cheeks were reddened. “Where were you?! Why didn't you say a thing?”  
As soon as she'd reached you, she grabbed you, forcing you to stand up. She hugged you tightly; just to slap your face the next second. 

No doubt, you'd deserved that one. You didn't even bother to hold your hand over your cheek, though you could not deny a stinging burn and cleaning hurt. 

“Sorry Mary-Beth, won't happen again.” 

“I sure hope it won't! We been searching the whole area for you! I was so afraid you fell down the cliff while drunk! Javier was outta his head!”  
She hugged you again, then let go of you again. 

While you could do nothing but stare at her. They had worried so much, done so much to find you; while you, of course, had been stealing _their_ bait in Blackwater. Wasn't life a rollercoaster? 

Finding her composure again, Mary-Beth straightened her skirt, then turned towards the men who were still sitting on the bench. “Gentlemen, I think I've got something good. I snuck into this fancy house.. and acted like a servant-girl, usually works. Someone was saying her sister was taking a trip from New York or someplace. Train full of rich tourists, heading to Saint Denis and then cruising off to Brazil!” Now her cheeks glowed with delight. 

“Okay...” Arthur said, clearly interested in the story and the possibility of a train robbery. 

“A train laden with baggage and passing through a bit of deserted country at night as to get to the docks in time for the tides in some place called Scarlett Meadows.”

“Yeah, I know it”, Uncle chimed in, his voice lowered. “Yeah, yeah, it's right out near New Hanover. Right, it's real quiet out there.”

Arthur nodded, listening to these two. “Sounds good.” He turned his head up to face you. “What's our witch say to that?”  
Did that indicate he wasn't angry anymore? Wishful thinking, but might also be true.

What stressed you out way more than the trouble you'd get for leaving without a word was still the fact that they had searched for you, everybody had been worried.  
What had you done to them? To Javier? That poor man probably cursed himself for not noticing in time.

You looked at Arthur and tried to remember that mission with the train. As much as you knew it went well and almost effortlessly. Just a few lawmen on their heels but not for too long, nothing to worry about. Had been fun playing. You'd do it again, with pleasure. 

“Yah, why not? I'd do it.” Slowly you restored your composure. 

“Dutch'll like that.” The cowboy took a look around. “Where's Tilly and Karen?”

You'd love nothing better than to just run to where they were and collect the girls – you knew by heart where to find them and what they did right now. Plus, there'd by a fight in for you.

“I think at the hotel, they were picking up some drunken fellers, that they was going to rob”, Mary-Beth said, softly shrugging her shoulders.

“Why?” Arthur didn't sound pleased at all. 

“It seemed easy.” 

The men shook their heads and let them hang. 

“They have been gone for quite a while”, the brunette went on, now gazing around if she saw one of them around. Uncle took a deep drag from his bottle.

“I guess I'll go see if there's any trouble”, the blond man said while getting up with a slight groan. That sounded pretty much like you did, crawling out of bed in the morning. 

“Arthur, may I help you with that?”, you offered immediately. No way you wanted to stay on that bench, waiting for things to happen. Where was the fun in that?

“Oh, there's Tilly over there!”, Mary-Beth called out, grabbing for Arthur's sleeve. He turned to see where exactly the young woman pointed at. She furrowed her brows. Tilly just got pulled away by a black man in a yellow coat, seemingly by force, into the shadows of a small building besides the hotel. “That does not look ideal.”

“Arthur, you go check on Tilly. I'll search for Karen in the hotel.”

The man eyed you for a second, a bit confused, but didn't hold you back. Instead he turned to Uncle and Mary-Beth. “Excuse us.” And off he went, steps big, anger bigger.

You followed him, at the front of the hotel your path parted – he turned left to save Tilly, while you jumped up onto the porch of the hotel. Shortly after you went through the swinging door into the building.  
Honestly, you had always dreamt to do that once in your life. It was somehow dramatic. Just like you had imagined. Even the porter graced you with an surprised and interested expression; wearing black trousers and a dark vest he looked very trim.  
Briskly you walked over to him.

“Hello Sir. May I go upstairs?”, you politely asked. 

“Sure, Madame, but what are you searching upstairs?”

“My best friend must be here. Blonde, pretty. You'll recognize her when you see her. You'll allow?”

“S-sure.”

Somehow you'd managed to confuse him – most likely because of your hair and clothes – which only was in your favour.  
Thereupon you almost sprinted up the stairs. At the stairhead to the right, last door at the right side. You were a damn nerd.  
Before you even reached the door you could hear the voices. Karen's was shrill and angry.

“Get away from me!”, she shouted as you finally stood in front of the door. The drunkard in the room said something spiteful you couldn't understand, but his voice was all you needed to hear. 

You tried the door-knob, but of course it was locked. No forceful rattling changed that, which annoyed you immensely. You didn't want Arthur to catch up with you. Saving Karen was your job now.

It came to your mind that the locks in this century may not have the best quality, or at least not the one you used to know. The same hopefully applied to the wooden doors – especially since they obviously were of a cheap kind.  
Most likely it was some softwood, stained to look more expensive. That shouldn't be too hard to kick in.  
Although you had avoided gyms you had undeniable trained legs; a result of your job, you had to walk around all day, lift up people or heavy cartons.

So you found yourself acting like a typical western-hero, kicking in the door – luckily not spraining your ankle doing so. Against all odds, it actually worked, the wood splintered, you heard the lock creak. The door swung open, presenting you a picture of Karen, who lay on the ground, small wounds in her face and on her arms.  
Above her bowed a disgusting guy in his thirties, wearing his... yeah, what exactly was he wearing? Full-body body? Extremely long underpants? Ordinary underwear? However it was called, it wasn't as clean as it should be, in your opinion. 

As surprised as you were by how ridiculous that man was in real life, as shocked was the guy to have a pissed off chick standing in the door. Which was you. 

“You! Leave that lady alone!”, you riled and stomped into the room.

“Who the hell are ya?”, the guy slurred.

“A friend of the lady.” Standing tall in front of him you shot him death-glares. You were about the same height, but you were wearing clothes. And shoes. 

“S-Skuld!”

“Get lost, bitch! I paid for that!”

“But not for hitting her, you nasty pig!”

He came closer to you, whilst Karen crawled out of his reach and pulled herself up on the bed. 

_Fight!_ , you thought, secretly delighted. Unfortunately you bit your lower lip again. You should really try to get that under control.

Lifting your fists a bit you allowed a confident grin. “Come on here, ya wimp.”

That was more than an invitation to him.  
The man, drunk as he was, stormed towards you, throwing a fist which you could barely evade.  
Unfortunately he hit your left upper arm, causing you to curse under your breath. Pain was shitty. And there was a lot of it for you.  
You managed to duck under the next blow from him. This wouldn't end well if you fought fair. And you would never forgive yourself if you lost to that guy now. 

Hot pain stung in your arm as you grabbed the chair to your right, lifted it up and dashed it into his direction, paired with a guttural growl escaping your throat.  
If that had been a high quality hardwood chair you wouldn't have been able to lift it like that. Praise cheap goods!

Panting you watched the man halfway go down, he wasn't knocked out and that counted. Within a breath you jumped onto him, kicking him into his stomach, earning a pained, high pitched scream.  
Suddenly you felt him grab your right leg – and then he pulled you down!  
You faltered, a shocked _Shit!_ following as you tried to steady yourself.  
That had not been the plan!

“You bitch!”, the guy gnarled and tried to bring you to a fall again, while getting up himself. 

That must not happen! 

Though you managed to keep him down, he pushed you towards the floor, halfway burying you underneath him. He was heavy. You panted, stressed out – the next moment a fist hit your face. Stinging pain shot through you and you yelped. Maybe you even spat a bit of blood. You lip was burst and the pain was so intense you couldn't tell if lower or upper lip or both.  
In front of your eyes the world shifted, blurred – it felt like you tried to stare through dirty milk glass.

“Oh my god”, you heard Karen whine, voice weak with terror.

And that, somehow, did it. That asshole would not get away with beating up Karen. Nobody would get away with that if you happened to witness it.  
Forcefully you grasped him with your left, fought for your senses and your eyesight, instinctively scratched his face with your fingernails as soon as he was close enough.  
This time it was his turn to scream in agony and surprise. To protect his face from further scratches he turned away – giving you the time to ram your elbow into his back.  
Groaning he went down.  
You slowly got up and kicked him into his face.  
For safety reasons.

Just then Arthur stormed into the room, his face painted with worry. As soon as he saw the unconscious man on the floor his expression went from worried to almost smug. Karen got his attention, holding herself up on the drawer in the corner of the room.

“What the hell were you doing here?”, he demanded to know.

“Trying to play him. Not very well”, the young woman admitted and went over to Arthur, still a bit shaky. “Luckily Skuld helped. I...you... You came along just at the right time. I knew you'd come back.” She smiled thankfully at you and you grinned back.  
Which was met with instant pain. You felt just a tiny bit nauseous and dizzy.  
So that's what one got for getting punched in the face.

“You two all right?” Arthur led Karen out of the room. 

You stayed in the room for a moment longer, eyed the unconscious idiot and decided to rob him as long as you felt halfway okay. It wasn't much, but the satisfaction was nice and that counted way more than the few pence you got. 

With a little delay you trotted behind the other two. Your sight blurred again, maybe because you'd tried to catch up with them. Carefully you held onto the wall with your left hand as you did not want to fall. That would just spoil the victorious mood. 

“I'm fine...”, Karen said. You abstained from contributing to that.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Nothing... nothing to worry about, just.. men, but... stupid bastard. Stupid bastard was boasting about the bank.”

“The bank?”, Arthur questioned. 

“Sure, I know small town banks are usually a waste of time, but... this is a livestock town, there's lots of cash sometimes.”

You've reached the stairs, Karen was going ahead, followed by Arthur. You stopped. There was a more than distinct taste of blood in your mouth, your brain felt strangely numb and squishy. That was probably a commotio cerebri.  
It was impossible to go down the stairs now. You would stumble and fall in that state. But you didn't want to interrupt the two in front of you in their talk. 

The conversation softly babbled on whilst you held onto the banister and slowly took the first step down. You puffed. It worked. Nice and slowly, Rom wasn't built in one day neither.  
Commotio cerebri – such rubbish. You were just a hypochondriac. You were perfectly fine, onwards like that. 

While you had mastered the third step, Karen had already reached ground level. She talked on, something with your name, too. Though you would've loved to eavesdrop, you had to concentrate on breathing a lot more than usual.  
She turned around – and stopped.

“Arthur! Quick! She's fallin'!”

“Skuld!” With just two big steps he was at your side, holding you. “Why didn't ya say you're not fine?” He sounded like a worried big brother.

“It's okay”, you played it down while trying to shove Arthur away. But you were no match for him so he almost dragged you down the stairs, his arm firm around your waist. 

“Just how many hits did ya take? Damn, didn't ya know what kinda man was in 'ere with Karen? I thought yer a foretellin' witch?!”

“Yeah.. I somehow thought fights are easy”, you told him which was the truth. An apologetic grin caused by his outburst sneaked on your face.

“Fights are never easy, Skuld!”, he lectured you while escorting you out of the hotel. Karen shot you a caring glance.

“I'm sorry he... he injured you like that.”

“ _Ach_ , he got his share”, you waved her sorrows off.

You went through the swinging door again, this time feeling way less cool than before, and were already awaited by Uncle and the two girls.   
When they laid eyes on you, Mary-Beth held her hand over her mouth, staring at you shocked while Tilly ran to care for Karen. 

“He only punched me”, Karen said, holding her hurting jaw. “Skuld punched him a lot harder – with a chair.”

“The lil' one?” Uncle had a good laugh.

“Yes, the lil' one.” There was no fun in Arthur's voice. Stern and dead serious. “You could've get your neck broken in there.”

You withstood the urge to ape him in the most ridiculous way. “Well, I didn't.”

“Leave the fights to us next time, you're not very good with it”, he went on with his sermon. 

Proving he was worse than you. Unbelievable. “How 'bout I don't leave it to you? And instead you boys show me how to fight?”

The men eyed you for a moment, thinking. Then Uncle laughed again. Arthur didn't. His face stayed thoughtful, his greenish blue eyes clearly showed his inner discord.   
Of course they could let you roam around without any knowledge of how to defend yourself. Or they could just teach you how to fight and be sure you wouldn't get hurt that easily while being alone for a while. Though, you didn't know when you would be allowed to go alone again.

“What's Dutch gon' say to that?”, Arthur finally asked.

“Dutch doesn't need to know everything”, you replied while walking back to the cart.

“Hey, who's that guy over there looking at us?”, Mary-Beth interrupted the discussion.

Everybody turned to the dandy on his fine brown steed. He wore expensive clothes – a light brown suit and a red tie. 

“Weren't you in Blackwater a few weeks ago?”, the stranger asked loudly, still anxious to have enough distance to your little group. His horse pranced nervously around.

“Me?” Arthur looked from left to right to check if the man probably meant somebody else. But since he was the only one the man pointed at, it was rather unlikely. “No, Sir. Ain't from there.” He lowered his head a bit. 

“Oh, you were. Well, I definitely saw you. With a bunch of fellers.” He was keen on making his point, that for sure. 

“Me? No.” 

You allowed yourself to stare the man into ground, together with the other girls. Powerful death glares. 

Arthur allowed himself to laugh a bit at the man. Just like he wasn't quite all right in his city-head. “Impossible.” The cowboy slowly took some confidently casual steps towards the man on the horse. “Listen buddy, come here for a minute.”

“I saw you!” This time there was more fear than conviction in his voice.

“Come here!” Arthur lifted his hand up to hold up the man. Which was in vain. 

To you there was a certain basic strain to feel in the atmosphere. Hopefully none of the passerbys did notice that.  
The horse of the stranger surely did for it more than willingly galloped away as its owner spurred it. 

“I think you should go after him”, you said drily, shoving Arthur towards a horse with a saddle standing near you.

“Skuld's right. I don't like that at all”, the oldest in this group said, surprisingly sober. 

“Me neither. Go get the girls home. I'm gonna go have word with our friend.” He got onto the horse and ready to follow the man, within the blink of an eye he was almost out of sight. The girls called after him to be careful whilst you already got onto the back of the cart.  
How much you had not missed that.   
You missed your car. Soft seats and music. 

And Uncle did as told – he brought you back to camp. Mary-Beth and Tilly insisted on scolding Karen and you for your recklessness and stupidity. In a loving way, though.   
The two of you exchanged a conspirational smile and let the girls give their lecture.


	17. Neighbours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually I wanted to push on the story a bit, but somehow I got lost in this lil... whatever it is. Friends-who-care-for-each-other.

As you arrived at camp you slowly clambered down the cart Dutch was the first one to see you and immediately got a hold of you. It was clear that he was in no good mood. Absolutely not. You had no real wish to dispute with him now.

“Miss Skuld, for a wo-”

“Mr. van der Linde, you're staring.” You had stopped to face him, though not willing to do anything else but sleep and drink away your pain and probably hang around Kieran for a while. 

“What has happened in town? Uncle!” The gang leader turned around, Hollywood-style. Just to notice Uncle was getting on with his bottle again. Heading for you. “Uncle, what happened in Valentine? I just.. I just told ya to stay on low profile! And where did you pick up Miss Skuld?!” He was obviously not amused.

“Well... what can a old fool like me say? Was jus' sittin' in front of the store – though you lil' Miss Skuld seems to be more of a scapegoat than a psychic”, Uncle chuckled. “Has some tidy chair-throwing ability if ya hear Karen talk.” With that he left to get some alone time with his whiskey.

_He thinks I'm good at throwing chairs_ , was all you could think. _Gosh, luckily he hasn't seen me fight in there. What a sorry-show that was._  
Dutch's angry glare didn't get to you, not like it should. Much more you were busy thinking about how you could master hardwood-chair-throwing. 

“What happened? Where were you? And why did you _sneak_ away?”, the black haired man demanded to know, leading you to the campfire.  
Would he roast you alive? Like you had done it to evil NPCs while playing the game? You wouldn't like that. 

Before you could actually think about your answer, you heard yourself say: “In which order?” Luckily you couldn't crack a grin due to your paining face.

“You are not in the positions to joke around!”, he intensely glared at you. His dark eyes almost burned with suppressed rage. 

You passed some members of the gang who interrupted their work to stare at Dutch and you, passing by.

“Okay. I was sitting on a bench, the men were in the store and then Karen got assaulted by a nasty feller.” That half-truth was better than nothing. “Arthur was then out helping Tilly, so I took care of him.”

“And Uncle?”

“Was busy having lumbago, like always.” You allowed a small laugh. 

“Skuld! Skuld! _Dónde estabas? Que pasó? Pensé que te había perdido!_ ”  
Dutch and you turned around to the voice of Javier, who came running from a far corner of the camp. Looking fancy, like always. 

Though, fancy was a bit well-meant. He was dressed better than most of the gang, but not as swanky as Dutch.  
The Mexican wore a white shirt, a blue vest. In it was a golden pocket watch or whatever that small chain was supposed to be. Additionally he had a red cravat as tie-substitute and a blue jacket – his trousers fitted his vest in terms of colour.

“Hey Javier.” Waving at him you smiled fondly. He was one of your favourite gang members.  
But instead of properly greeting you, he tackled you with a hug, only letting go to kiss your hand like a true gentleman. 

“ _Que estabas pensando?_ ” That sounded quite taunting. “ _Nunca hagas esto de nuevo._ ”

“Okay.” You only said that because you had literally no idea what he was saying, but it sounded like a demand.

There Javier noticed the state of your face, the wounds and the haematoma. Startled he stared at you.  
_At least I don't look as bad as Karen does_ , you thought. Although, you had not checked on yourself in a mirror, so there was a chance you actually looked worse. And your lip was lacerated, not to forget. Maybe you did look horrid.

“ _Por el amor de Dios! Que pasó? Te ves terrible!_ ” Javier softly put his hands on your cheeks and took his time to consider your wounds. 

“Yes...” You had no idea what to say. He was so worried. And his face was so close to yours. You saw his frown, noticed his nostrils widen a bit for every deep, concentrated breath. Awkward. His dark chocolate eyes were filled with honest sorrow, his right eyebrow was parted by an old scar.  
Your brain played some displacement activities to your inner eye, all of them completely out of question.

“Javier, we were having a talk here”, Dutch rudely disrupted your Spanish-excursion. His mood had officially reached rock bottom. Was that your fault alone? Who would have guessed? 

Reluctantly Javier let go of your face and you came to miss the warmth of his hands. He turned around to his _jefe_. 

“You wanted anything else?”

“Charles and me want to go to town, tomorrow or in a few days, keep our ears open. Wanted to ask if you want to come along.” As if it was the most natural thing in the world, to greet you like that and then ditch you the next moment, he started his conversation with Dutch.

“Sure. Can't hurt to get to know the townspeople and our whereabouts”, Dutch agreed and started to walk away, then something came to his mind for he stopped mid-movement. A creepy smile that could not mean anything good defaced him.

“What is it?”, you dared to ask since this expression was directed at you. 

“You know, Miss Skuld, each misconduct gets punished.” His gaze darted towards Javier. “Tie her onto a tree.”

And there you had hoped he'd forget about letting you know you had behaved badly. You stared at the tall man, eyes big in disbelief. You had just saved one of his long-time gang members from certain rape.  
Yes, you knew, you had left them in an unmannered way, had been away for days, had abused their trust – but you also had not betrayed them!  
At least not in a life-threatening way. 

“Really, Dutch?”, Javier wanted to know, not sounding all too confident. 

“Yes of course!”, the older man snapped. “Of course tie her to a tree! Who knows where she's been? Maybe she has even told someone where we are.”

“I haven't. But go off I guess.” Shrugging your shoulders you winced. Your arm still hurt. 

“Go what?”

“Uhh... nevermind.” It occurred to you that nobody here would get memes and that made you even sadder. Resigned you started to walk towards Kieran – a future fellow prisoner. Javier had joined you 

“Did- did I just hear what I thought I heard?!”

“Karen, my dear, what is it?”

“You wanna tie her to a tree?” The young woman ushered over, cheeks reddened, eyes a tad wild. “Tell me that's not what you're gon' do to her! She saved me!”

Hearing her fight for you against their leader caused your heart to flutter in gratitude. There was no need for Karen to do that – but here she was, angry and worried. 

“You know what we do to traitors, Karen. I'm being mild here.” Clearly Dutch didn't want to give up on tying you up. 

You threw a doubting glance over to Javier who lowered his eyes, knowing damn well he had to follow the orders, no matter how much or less he liked you as a person. 

“I can't believe you're doin' that!”, Karen bellowed, but Dutch waved her off, his rings glistening in the soft fire light. 

“Don't worry, Karen. I'll consider that.” He looked over to you, eyeing you as you stood slumped and beaten. “Do as I told.”

“Mhm...” 

Although you didn't want to be bound to a tree you appreciated Javier's unmotivated sound of knowing what to do. 

You walked up to the tree in silence, you caught Kieran's curious glance which changed quickly as he figured what was about to happen. Wide-eyed he stared at Javier, who unwillingly bound your hands behind the tree. You could hear the Mexican mumble a few times _Sorry_.  
The rope around your wrists felt wrong and rough and you didn't like it. You could not recommend it. Zero stars on Google Rating. 

Awkwardly standing in front of you, Javer shifted from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do. You sighed.

“It's not your fault”, you finally said. “Dutch told you to.”

“It's not... it is. But it's... what happened to your face? Why did you go away? I drove everybody mad because of you. Together with Mary-Beth.” He crossed his arms and looked away, then back at you. 

“Maybe I've been in a fight with a nasty jerk”, you mentioned, not ashamed at all. Why would you. Even Karen was proud of you! Also, that guy had deserved every kick and punch and sometimes one got hit in a fight.  
You weren't experienced enough with having fist fights, as a consequence you had taken some hits yourself. Hopefully it wouldn't be like that in the future. 

“Why did you do that?”

“You heard Karen. That animal wanted to hurt her.”

Silence lingered over you as Javier decided to leave you to it.  
_What was that?_ , you wondered. Why did he just leave like that? No comment on how understandable and honourable that was? Nothing?  
You watched him going over to your shared sleeping place. At closer inspection you could make out Charles sitting not far off, carving something. Maybe arrows.

“Uh... hey...”, Kieran's weak voice softly greeted you and caused you to look at him. 

He was still worn and even more haggard than before. You definitely needed to feed him as soon as possible! You'd get him some good meat and potatoes and a gallon of eggs. His body needed everything in huge amounts. 

“Hey Kieran. How's it goin'?” You sighed and thought about trying to loosen the rope. But then you'd never be forgiven. So you kept your fingers still. Very vaguely you had been even expecting things to go that way. Dutch was Dutch after all. 

“Not good”, he admitted, softly shuffling in his place. “But... b-but it's not good for you neither.”

“How comes?” Furrowing your brows you eyed the man. 

“Y-you got beat up.”

“Yes.”

“That's not... good.”

Thinking about that, you leaned your head against the tree. Was it really not good? Of course, you were in pain and your face looked like shit. But was it working against you? Considering everything, this might even work in your favour. You had risked your life and face for one of the gang-members, not thinking twice. You had shown your willingness to fight for them. In a way.  
So, actually, it was not really bad. 

“No, it's not. It's great.” You grinned.

“Great?” It sounded just as doubtful as the gaze out of his kind eyes was. 

“Trust me, Kieran – I'll be free within a day.”

“H-how? Will you... just go again? Because if so... please d-don't.”

“Why?”

Before Kieran could answer, you heard Javier's talk become louder, more energetic, catching your attention. You turned your head towards the men, saw Javier pointing towards you, then to Uncle. He was all big gestures, his small golden chain jiggled around.  
As reaction, Charles threw you a glance, his expression located somewhere between disbelief and worry. 

Were they all anxious like that whenever somebody came with small scratches?  
Nobody had made such a fuss about Karen, although you wouldn't even have noticed it. Maybe Miss Grimshaw was taking care of her.

Both men trotted towards you, trying to be as unsuspicious as possible, failing at that. Everybody who might watched them knew they were up to something.  
Charles had a small bag with him, now rummaging through it.  
Kieran, Javier and you were staring at him expectantly. 

“W-what's he doing?”, Kieran softly asked, directed at you.

“I don't know”, you whispered back. “Charles, what are you doing?”

“Here, take this.” The huge man held up a small glass vial and attempted to give it to you, then stopped mid-movement; realizing you were tied to a tree and not in the position to take the vial from him. 

“I'd love to. What is it?” 

“It helps with wounds”, Charles explained, voice calm and steady and deep.  
By closer inspection he didn't seem too surprised or troubled you were back again. Most likely he had been cool about you missing all the time. And why should he not be, you were a though witch-bitch.

“Charles has a knack for these things.” Javier came closer.

“And what do I... do you do with it? Jus' apply it?”

“Yes.” Charles opened the vial and held it close to your face.

You sniffed at it. You always did that. Inconclusive – the wound care manager within wished for Octenisept and compresses and sterile plasters; the witch within was excited beyond comprehension – you wanted to bite your lower lip but stopped yourself before you could do it. It was still painful. 

“Okay, let's try this.” You watched as Charles opened it vial, put some drops of the yellowish liquid onto his index finger. Then he softly patted your lip with his finger, putting the drops on it.

While Charles did that, you felt a well-known burning taking over your lips. Something in that stuff was disinfecting. Sharply you took in a breath, your eyes fixed on Charles finger working on your still bloody lip. Or was that blood that had oozed out of your nose?  
You didn't know, though you wanted to.  
While taking in the man's concentrated expression your mind darted to what your boss would say to something like that wound treatment. He would tear his beard in default of scalp hair. 

“It can burn a lot”, Charles warned you way too late.

“Really? I don't feel a thing.” Sarcasm as elective course. Though, it didn't come out as sharp-witted as planned, for Charles' finger still was on your lip, massaging the liquid in. As he stopped doing so, you thanked him. 

“And her cheek?”, Javier wondered. “Don't forget about that.”

“My cheek?” 

But before you could inquire more about _your cheek_ \- just how did that drunkard hillbilly manage to like rip open your cheek with his bare fist – Charles had the vial open again, bathed his finger in the liquid and bustled around in your face again.

Well, he didn't do that. He was just as careful and soft as before, rubbing the tonic onto two different spots of your face. His touch was gentle, like silk, although his hands were roughened from living his harsh life.  
Once again you held still – what else were you gonna do anyway – and let him take care of your wounds.  
Finally he put the little glass vial away. 

Somehow these two guys caring for you were adorable. Though, they never ought to know that – worst case you'd destroy their reputation as gangsters.  
Giving that a second thought, you had almost managed that with Charles already. 

“Thank you, Charles.” Looking at him you were quite sure he judged you for the scratches and the small wounds and all the blood which started to built a solid crust on your lower jaw. Sexy. The crust. Not him judging you. 

“You're welcome. Just apply it until the wounds are healed”, he advised. 

You stared him dead in the eyes, eyebrows cocked. Apart literally not being able to apply it until the wounds were healed, each piece of your whole being shouted: _How 'bout_ you _do it instead. You can rub my face every day. Your hands are so soft and rough and warm. And you got a pair of pretty eyes there._  
You called these thoughts _The Hoe Within_ , it always broke loose whenever your period was waiting around. 

But instead of saying any of that, you decided to go with a simple “Okay”.

Just then Charles, towering over you, allowed the smallest of smiles. “It's gonna be okay. You're lucky Javier takes care the girls are alright.”

And how should you interpret that now?

“Charles! What's she gonna think about me now?” The Mexican was clearly upset by that statement. Within the blink of an eye he patted your right upper arm. “Don't believe a word he says! If we don't care, who will then?”

Laughing you shook your head, then winced again. The burning added to your pain did not do any good right now. 

“I'll get you a blanket, we don't want you to freeze”, Javier said while casually strolling towards the sleeping place. “Best you rest yourself... as much as possible.”  
He was referring to you being tied to the tree with no possibility to properly rest. 

“I can just go die, then.”

“Javier is right, you should rest, as much as possible. The swelling will go away in no time”, Charles added to your dramatic reaction. 

“My... my face is swollen?” If it wasn't for you hands being tied together, you would have touched it, felt how bad it was. A rather big stare was all you managed. “Like..like yeast dough or... worse?”

“Charles' messing with you. It's not so bad.” Javier returned with a blanket and carefully put it around your shoulders as to keep you warm during night.  
Just how sweet can a person be?

“It is bad”, Charles argued calmly.

With a deep and rich sigh you let yourself sink down to the ground, your back scratching on the tree-trunk. The blanket followed suit and luckily still covered your shoulders.   
Swollen face. Ripped open lip, scratched cheek. Probably a haematoma on your upper arm. As well as in your face.   
There must be punishment for bad actions.   
Or for being arrogant. For you to actually think you could take on that drunk guy and look good while fighting him. It was your own fault. 

You closed your eyes, giving in, letting fate just for once do to you whatever it wanted.   
Somebody put the blanket properly around you and you smiled fondly, thankfully.  
Steps went away from your place and you were alone with Kieran and your blanket.   
Kieran. Right. 

Slowly you turned your head to look at the other captive. He was sitting on the ground as well, eyes half closed.   
You yawned widely. 

“Good night, Kieran”, you said, voice soft and a bit weak. You felt dizzy again. Maybe it was the excitement of coming back and the resignation and anger following. 

“G'night, Skuld.”


	18. The Raven King

It was late evening when somebody joggled you awake, having a hold on your shoulder. Drowsily you grunted. Through your sleepy-dust-eyes you looked up to Mary-Beth, who coyly smiled at you. 

“Mary-Beth?” You jiggled around to find another position. Being tied to a tree was terribly uncomfortable, your legs were asleep and they felt like a million ants were having a techno-based party in them. Though you had been sleeping for a few hours you were still tired. “What's up?”

“I got good news.” Full of eager she went behind you and opened the knot in the rope. “Uncle and Karen talked Dutch into releasing you again. Said you saved her life. Said you fought like a savage to save her.” 

“They did?”

“Yes!” Back in front of you, she smiled brightly. “Arthur and Hosea also spoke up for you – Dutch had no choice.”

“Okay... guess I should thank 'em.” Rubbing your sore wrists you made no attempt to get up. Your legs were still made of pins and needles, not to mention your behind. 

“Yes. There's food. We're at the campfire. You should come and join us.” She knelt down beside you, having a long look at your face. “That was very brave of you.”

“Did Pearson cook?”, you slowly asked.

“Yes. He always does.”

“Maybe I don't wanna eat then.” You didn't feel like having half-cooked, tasteless stew. Or soup. 

Sweetly laughing Mary-Beth got up again. “Come, there's a surprise, too.”

Just as you were about to stand up, too, your gaze brushed over Kieran, who stared at the two of you longingly. He had overheard your conversation. You stayed seated. 

“Hey, wait. What about Kieran? He's been on that tree long enough.”

“That's...” Mary-Beth dared to look at Kieran, then quickly looked away, hand-wringing “He... Dutch doesn't trust him....”

“Dutch doesn't trust me neither. Where's the difference?” You knew the difference very well. He had been part of the O'Driscoll's – other than you. The group had found you, a damsel in not so much distress, but obviously disoriented. 

“P-please don't ask... she's... I know why you can be free”, Kieran hastily said, his voice shaky and high pitched. As if he cared for Mary-Beth, as if he was afraid you could ask her rather unpleasant questions in an unpleasant way. 

A sly grin appeared on your face as you glanced at Kieran. Half your face felt overly tensed – and tension as emotion was not the trigger for that. No. You now felt the swelling, your lip hurting more. Maybe you couldn't even eat properly in that condition. Which wouldn't bother you at all. 

“A surprise you say?”

“Y-yes.” Mary-Beth looked from you to Kieran and back, not sure what was going on. Her eyes lingered on him just a second too long. 

“For y'all or for me?”

“For you of course!” Now she smiled again. How could one be that sweet and kinda happy all the time? That girl and her good mood. 

“Aight, I'll come.” So you got up, stretched yourself achingly and had in general no wish for human interaction whatsoever, especially not with Micah who would be there, too. Slowly you followed Mary-Beth, who hurried ahead to announce you turning up.  
Just how sweet could she be? Or, maybe you were just a bitter old bitch.

Before you got into sight of the others – well, you hid behind a tent – you observed the scene in front of you.  
It was like … it looked like in game. Damn, it felt like in game.  
The atmosphere beamed with high spirits, the fire crackled appealingly, Javier played on his guitar. Charles was nowhere to be seen, neither were Dutch and Molly. But latter ones were maybe in Dutch's tent, doing whatever. 

All the other gang members sat around the fire or stood about, singing. All except Sadie Adler, a widow. O'Driscolls' had murdered her husband just a few weeks ago. She was still in pain and grieving and you didn't want to disturb her doing that. Though you felt the urge to do _something_ about it. You had just not figured what that may be. 

And now you should destroy that good mood with your boxing-ring-face? Who of these people did actually want you there? Who had asked for you?  
Suddenly you couldn't really think of anybody who could want you in their presence.  
Like, hello, you already were on bad terms with Dutch. Or, at least you were on the best way on being on bad terms. You were slimy and arrogant and eccentric. 

“She wanted to come with me...”, you heard Mary-Beth lament. “I promise!”

“I'll see where she's at. I ain't think she's lost.”

With your eyes squinted you stood at your spy-corner and wondered just why John wanted to search for you.  
Up to now you didn't have any conversation with him, maybe a Hello once, but nothing more.  
Additionally you wondered why he, his wife-to-be Abigail and little Jack still were at camp. They should leave now, find honourable jobs and live a happy, uncriminal life. Just what you thought on their situation.

John didn't really need to search, to be honest. He had made a few steps, went around the corner – and there you were, earning a surprised look, his eyes widening a bit. 

“Skuld... the others 're askin' for ya.”

“I know.” You thought it interesting who decided to talk to you in a rather friendly way and who used their usual slang. Both were okay for you. But friendly talk was always respectful. Though, getting embraced in their slang felt like home. Somehow. “I just wonder why.”

“Heard ya saved Karen, so... thanks.” His rough voice was strangely appealing.  
Awkwardly he patted your back, as if he'd done it a hundred times, his shoulder-long hair swung with the movement. They could use a bit of washing in your opinion. 

“Well, Arthur's helped Tilly out of a rather ugly situation, too.”

“Arthur's with us for twenty years. It's been two weeks for ya.” He stopped, cocking his head. “It ain't even two weeks.”

“Jaaa...” Giving in, you followed the taller man.

As you arrived at the camp fire, the singing and talking died down and in that moment you knew that teacher would have never been the right job for you – you had thought about it a few times. This specific expectant, ominous silence. The silent blame. The thousand question marks painted over their faces. 

The one-hundred-fifty-three-thousand dollars on the bank – minus a few hundred bucks, but who cared for these – probably just flashed on your forehead. How you wished to get away again. Suddenly you felt like a criminal. A dirty one, to that. 

“Oh look who's magically reappeared”, Micah boasted, his words thick with sarcasm. He sat on a wooden case in front of the fire, warming his hands. At least he didn't look at you with his disgusting eyes. “Our little birdie comes back to befoul our nice nest.”

You decided to ignore him as long as you could. So you sat down between Hosea and Lenny and excused for causing such a ruckus and not telling them where you went. 

Young Lenny just shook his head, softly patting your shoulder, reassuring you that the most important thing was that you were back safe and sound. Your heart jumped against your chest and you wanted to hug the boy until he was crushed into the sweet pie he was. You didn't, though.  
Hosea eyed you scrutinizing, but fatherly. 

“What have you been doing in all these days?”, he finally asked softly. 

Leaning over to him you whispered: “Psychic-Business.” That had to do for now. Nobody needed to know about your actions of the last days.  
Although it was not real treachery, it was close. Nobody had urged you to promise to not take the money. Besides, they had no idea you knew.

“You know you seem quite shady?”

“Well, I hope I do”, you chuckled, getting back to your normal sitting position. 

Karen cleared her throat and threw you a stern look out of her blue eyes. “I wanted to thank you again for knocking down that guy with a chair. And I wanted everyone to know what you did for me. And what'cha risked.”

“Is... is that the surprise?”, you wondered, honestly startled. You had not expected that and neither wanted it. For things like these you didn't want to get applause. 

“Of course not, silly!”, the blonde laughed. “What kinda pathetic surprise would that be?”

“I've had way more boring surprises in my life”, you allowed yourself to say, which caused some of the people around you to show you their questioning-things-faces.

The gang just went silent for a while, causing you to feel awkward and insecure regarding your current social situation within the group. What was going on here? Was something going on?  
You wanted to swallow nervously, but forbid it yourself. Because, who were you to do so. By all means you were no shy, unconfident model of human being who wetted their pants at any sign of aversion towards themselves.  
As nothing happened you slowly cocked your eyebrows and looked about the place. 

“Should I... maybe go away again? So the mood's not that dead?”, you asked at some point, just to make sure you were still wanted here. 

“Well... actually... actually your surprise was...” Mary-Beth jumped up and walked away, maybe to check on something. Obviously there was something that didn't work like it should.  
Consequential you all heard her rant and complain silently from not afar. She came back, looking all down. “Jack 'n me made a flower crown for you... but Uncle fed it to the horses!”

A _flower crown_ \- was it 2015 again?  
But then... a flower crown for you. SWEET Mary-Beth. CUTE Jack. You smiled at both and blew them kisses.

“Thank you two. I'm sure it's been the prettiest flower crown ever.”

“Yes they were!”, Jack yelled, jumping over to you. Probably he still liked you because you had made them dance together in a funny way. “You know what uncle Arthur said?”, he asked excited. 

Crouching down at Jack's side, you tried to hide your confusion that he approached you like that. You were by all means no child-whisperer. 

“No. I dunno. What he say?” You were rather curious what the man had to say about you. Probably something along the lines of _The chick is too stupid to aim at the nose of a drunk feller._

Around you nervous talk grew louder.

“Jack, there's no need to...!” Abigail chimed in, came over to the two of you and pulled her son away from you, throwing you an awkward and fake smile. Jack didn't get the opportunity to whisper the secret into your ear, leaving him whining as his mother pushed him towards their small tent.

So you sat back onto the tree trunk again and turned your attention to your boredom. It smiled at you, a sleek, broad and toothless grin in a huge greyish face, no nose, no eyes. Like a giant stick-figure it sat across you in your mind, in its mouth vast nothingness, no fun, no distraction. You hated your boredom, as seldom as it visited you.  
Your face throbbed nastily, reminding you of your scratches and bruises.

“Well, since you don't have a surprise for Miss Skuld – I happen to have one.” The deep voice of Dutch resonated over the place, accompanied by the smell of his cigar. He stepped out of his tent and spread his arms to take up more space. Be bigger than he actually is, you know. 

“Uh... I dunno if I want it.” Faster said than thought about it. 

“Why so dismissive, Miss? Are you afraid of something? Why?”

“Let's see... you don't like me?”, you responded. 

“You just gotta give me a reason to believe you're a witch and not a tib.” He came closer and the gang couldn't decide which person deserved the more shocked look.  
Hadn't you saved Karen today? On your own free will? And weren't you temporarily defaced because of that? 

“Okay. Ask me. Anything. Ask me _anything_.” You leaned back and gave him your best defiant expression. “Something I could never know.” 

You glanced over to Hosea – and he threw you a look – and the both of you knew how this would end. After all, he, Arthur and Charles had witnessed on that cart what kind of nerd you were. 

“What's my mother's name?”

Screaming a silent _Thank you_ to the sky and the ghosts and everything alive you knew you'd make it out alive tonight. 

“Greta van der Linde”, you said, crossing your legs.  
That got Dutch and the gang off guard – except the three men who knew that you knew – and you heard the leader take a sharp breath.

“You... you guessed that.”

“Really, Dutch?”

“Dutch, leave her alone – why should she lie?”, Hosea chimed in. “How could she know the name of your mother?”

“Who knows, maybe she's hiding something from us.”

“Yeah, probably my witch-secrets?”, you intervened and got up. Your silk pant glistened in the fire light. “Dutch, with all due respect: What would I get from tellin' you how I do the fortune-telling or my magic? What would I gain? It wouldn't be special or magic anymore. It would loose its appeal completely. If nobody wants to contribute to that, I'd like to … retreat.”

“Where to?”

“The sleeping place.” You hesitated for a second. Why was Dutch asking like that?

“Did you ask if you're dismissed for today?” He grinned slyly and you furrowed your brows. 

“You know, Dutch”, you started, reminding yourself of your manners. “Just tell me what the surprise is and then I can leave the camp again if you don't want me here.”  
Crossing your arms you avoided looking at the people around you – most likely all of them were appalled and scandalized and you'd lost all sympathy-points you had.  
Sometimes it be like that. 

And you thought about the revolver and Mr. Milton and the money and Mr. Downes with his tuberculosis and about all those who would die innocently if you didn't do anything against it. The dying, not being innocent.  
Yes, you were seeking for ruckus.  
And the longer and more you thought about that guy in front of you with his dress handkerchief, his swanky rings, his greed and money-madness and cigars and moods in general and his exploitery – the more you had the urge to just turn him in and get the bounty.

“On the day you left us I had something get brought to camp for you.” He, too, crossed his arms, his expression challenging. “As debut-gift, so to say.”

“As what?!” Dammit, you had not expected that. A gift. You were sold.  
On the other hand, he knew how to make people like and trust him. You better watch out what he wanted you to do. Men like Dutch liked to abuse folks for their own interests.

“As debut-gift. Come, or don't you trust me?”

Yes, you got that sideswipe, so you followed him, while the rest of the gang watched you carefully. 

As you were out of earshot you closed up to Dutch and walked at his side.

“What do you wanna show me? Or you wanna murder me?”

“Murder you?” He laughed bassy, then coughed due to his smoker's lung. “Certainly not. Nothing's further from my mind than that.”

“And why don't you like me?”

“I need to get an idea about what kind of person you are.”

With good reason you didn't mention Micah in this conversation. You knew just how much Dutch liked that man and how much he cared about that fishbelly's opinion. Maybe that was the reason for his antipathy towards you.

“And how do you plan to do that?” 

“That depends what you're doing for the group. And how much you're willing to sacrifice.”

“Well, I won't throw myself into a hail of bullets for the gang”, you said, sticking to honesty. Some of the gang-members were still not worthy getting protected by you. You didn't feel like dying for them. 

“I wasn't talking about that. What kind of service can you offer for the group?”

 _Micah want's to fuck me_ , you thought angrily. “Micah want's to fuck me.”

Shocked look from Dutch, peppered with a lot of truth. 

“Just tell me – did he make that idea tempting to you? Why?”

“Well, he was mentioning that you wouldn't be of much use on robberies, not to mention tough work...” He dragged on his cigar and you hoped he'd suffocate on that.  
Why did Dutch believe in that bullshit? He had _seen_ you work around camp. “Abigail's been working for us men for a while until she got pregnant.”

“I should serve as whore until I get pregnant?” You stopped and stared at Dutch, judging and chiding. “Mr. van der Linde, I'm a psychic and a witch, but not a whore. You can ask Miss Grimshaw – she's gonna tell you that I work hard in camp.”

“It's just been a suggestion. You'd do the men a great favour.”

“I'd rather die.” 

“Is that so?”

“Am I... _Ich glaub, ich brenn_. I can't believe it!” You stared at Dutch while he was shrugging his shoulders. Though a bit confused – you had noticed you'd let out some German slang – he didn't seem to care too much about your opinion on that. 

Micah had played the earworm _Skuld the Whore_ and that was playing on loop now. Never ever would you let even one (1) dirty penis find its way into your vagina. Not in your lifetime. Over your dead body. And that would be necrophilia and that's penally. 

“You see, Miss Skuld, everybody has to do their share a-”

“No.” You were angry. You were boiling over with rage.

This time Dutch turned around to face you and the astonishment was written all over his face. Quite obvious and in capital letters. “Excuse me?”

“I said _No_. I won't be the new camp-whore. Either you bear with me as witch and willing helper or I'll leave immediately and see what kinda secrets you keep from me”, you threatened him, voice cold as ice. “I know you left something important behind – it'd be easy for me to find out what and where.”

“What are you saying?” 

“Just don't be a brute.” You looked around. “So, is it gonna be surprise or murder?”

You heard Dutch chuckle, then he went on – you followed.  
There was a difference between bravery and stupidity which you knew. Unfortunately you ignored that right now. Your nerve ends twitched and wanted to force you to flee. But your manners were strong.

“You are really the epitome of audacity and rolling thunder”, the gang leader said and stopped at the side of a greyish white horse. “This one is for you. We've found him not far from here, his owner was shot.”

Speechless you stared at Dutch, then at the stallion. Its black nostrils widened as you got closer, from underneath his white mane a dark eye surveyed you carefully. The other eye was milky white and obviously blind.  
That nag was huge for your proportions, way bigger than Dutch's Arabian, maybe a bit smaller than John's Old Boy. How should you ever get onto that animal?  
You had an one-eyed horse.

“A horse? You're givin' me a horse?” You looked at Dutch, a thousand questions on your face. 

“Of course.” He awkwardly scratched his temple. “Micah had tried to urge us to agree to get you to be a whore, but mostly everybody was against it. So I though you'd want to make yourself useful. And with a horse you can at least hunt or go to town.”

“Why didn't you say that in the beginning?”

He shrugged his shoulders again. “I wanted to see how far you'd go to be on good terms with us.”

“Obviously not that far.”

“Well, we all test our boundaries and adjust them over time”, he slowly said and patted the neck of the nag. “As I said, the horse's yours. How you'll name him?”

“Wodan.”

Why were you like that? Why did you have to give the stallion the most obvious name that was there?  
But as you looked at the horse again you just knew that the name fitted just perfectly.  
This was more than just an ordinary horse. Not only because he was now _your_ horse – he was half-blind and you didn't believe he was here by accident. 

“How?”

It required all your willpower to not spill all the names – Allfather, Battle Enhancer, Grimnir, One Eyed, Hanged One, The Warrior, Third, God of Runes, Hatter, Odin – and once again prove that you were more than a nerd.  
Actually you were quite glad Dutch wasn't that well-read about Norse mythology and history, else he'd know you just named your horse after a Battle- and Deathgod.  
And if it came to that, Wodan and you would be ready. 

“His name is Wodan.”

“Very interesting.”

You patted the stallion's neck and offered him your hand to sniff on it. He huffed onto your fingers, warm and soft.  
Dutch went back to the camp fire, inviting you to join them if you felt like it. You just nodded and started petting the horse.

“ _Veit ek, at ek hekk, vindga meiði á, nætr allar níu, geiri undaðr, ok gefinn Óðni_. I'll ride with you.”

The stallion huffed loudly, his ears twitched. Almost like on cue two ravens landed in the branches of a nearby tree. Slowly you grew nervous. What was this supposed to mean?  
You looked over to the corvids, then to the horse, then to the corvids again. 

“Hugin and Munin?” Slightly overwhelmed you bit your lower lip. The birds fluttered away, croaking and chattering, not without throwing you last, unmistakably appraising looks out of their black button eyes. “I'm crazy”, you mumbled, ignoring the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “But that's okay.”

Ravens usually meant wisdom and knowledge, divination and also death. They heal with magic, they are linked with fortune-telling and necromancy. Maybe these two were a good sign for you. You hoped so.

You cuddled into Wodan's mane to calm yourself down, then you went to get your bag from the cart and put it where it belonged: Your sleeping place which you still shared with Charles and Javier. Silently you put the revolver into the bag and then knotted it.  
At the camp fire people were singing and talking.

Did you really want to go there again? Should you kill the mood again with your appearance? Rather not. There was no rule that one must do everything.  
_Absence makes the heart grow fonder_. Another saying, a favourite of your aunt from Swabia. So you listened to her words of wisdom and stayed at the sleeping place, put a bit of the liquid onto your face – you'd taken that out of his bag in the most spivvy way, and also put it back like that – and then covered yourself with a free blanket. 

You really were worn out, you noticed while laying around. Deathly tired, worn out and absolutely not unhappy with being here again. Of course you'd rather dissipate the gang's money and surprise them all with fancy big estates where they could then live a prosper and decadent life – but where was the fun in that? 

And although you knew that you wouldn't built a house for any of them, you still thought about what you could do with that money. Something everybody could benefit from.  
With the one or other idea in your head and a throbbing, burning face you slowly slipped into sleep; laughters and songs in your ears.


	19. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the gang slowly warms up to you, you notice that some of the members struggle more with socializing than others.

Buzzing sound awoke you. Butterflies again?  
Yawning you blinked, then took a lazy look around. No butterflies, instead a heavy warm arm, loosely laying around your waist.  
Facing you lay Javier, grinning roguish. So he was the one causing the humming sound – and that in the early morning. How awful. Wasn't there a single morning grouch like you were? Or were you the only one?

“G'morning”, he grinned at you, then put his finger on his lips, a sign for you to not make a sound. Curiously you stayed silent and watched him grab Charles' hand – a hand which belonged to the arm which lay around you. 

Carefully Javier lifted the hand while you noticed that Charles was slightly moving behind you. That man would really wake up for each and every triviality. Or did it just seem like that?  
Javier softly pulled the hand over to his mouth and pressed a kiss onto it, silently laughing. 

“Javier!”, you whispered terrified, grabbing for Charles' hand to protect it from further abuse. But the Mexican just shoved it towards you, causing the hand to touch your maltreated face.

“What are you banterers doin' there?”, Charles mumbled into your neck.  
You could feel his warm breath on your shoulder and couldn't help but feel goosebumps rising at the sensation. Just how close was he? Were you spooning through the blankets?  
Rather clumsily you turned your head and had to notice that, yes, Charles and you were spooning – and he was awake.  
His dark eyes stared at Javier and you, his hand was resting on your face, unfazed.

“Javier wanted to be gallant.”

“Skuld really likes to give kisses.”

Javier and you exchanged a smirk while Charles gruffed and then sighed.

“We gotta get up.”

“No, only dying is an obligation of life. All the rest is facultative”, you objected, staying in style of the German EBM – the system with which doctors get their services paid. Your best friend and colleague would giggle at that. Good gracious, just how much you missed your friends.  
You felt a sting in your small heart which you tried to ignore. Sadness has never helped anybody move on. At least not in your life.

“What?” Javier looked at you like you were talking in ancient Greek. “Skuld, what are you talkin' about? Speak English.”

“The only thing we have to do in life is die – all the rest we pick ourselves”, you translated what you'd just said, finally letting go of Charles' hand. The man slowly put it back to where it belonged, without touching you indecently, which you gave him great credit for.

“Javier, you wanted to go to town with us”, Charles reminded his fellow outlaw, slowly sitting up. He looked down onto you, his face all neutral – and suddenly you wished for nothing else but to see him sincerely smiling just once. The man furrowed his brows. “Do you need any help with the liquid?”

Nodding silently you sat up, too. 

Different to you, Javier groaned while getting into the sitting position. Still he managed to watch Charles with eagle-eyes, taking care of your swollen lip and the small cuts in your face. The taller man worked carefully and very tender. 

And because, in your heart, you somehow were a hoe – and because you just couldn't help it – you held eye-contact through the whole procedure with Charles. Who reddens first, loses. Since you were really not good at turning red it seemed it was Charles' turn to lose.

“ _Bonita_ , next time don't rush into fights, will ya?”, Javier said while Charles put the liquid away. 

“Can't promise that”, you joked cheekily. Your face already felt way better, allowing you to smile at Charles. “Thanks.”

His only reaction was a small nod into your direction, then he got on his feet and went into the nearby woods, probably needing to pee. Javier followed suit and you'd wager some coins that this would end in a very classic length comparison. 

Apropos peeing – you should do that, too. You got up, sniffed at your armpits and decided to get into the river again. Without making a fuss about that you grabbed a big linen cloth, a piece of soap and took your secret path down to Dakota River.  
Most of the gang members had been at sleep now, so why bother to wake them?

The water seemed to be way colder than the last time – naked you stood shoulder deep in the river, you were freezing and you let go of everything that needed to leave your body for good. Maybe you felt a bit guilty for doing that in the middle of a river where every passing person could see you, but you also felt quite empty and clean. So to hell with guilt.

While being in the icy water you suddenly felt a lot like Hotel California and you let the river and the fish and the sky know by humming and singing silently. You soaped yourself, hair and body. Somebody had to borrow a brush or comb to you, or else you'd end like that disgusting Beavertail-Candy of Newtopia – that's one of the worst German TV productions ever and you had no desire to ever resemble one of the participants. 

The thought alone caused your hair to stand on end. 

Also, hair. Such a strange business in times like these – nobody had the need to shave themselves at all. The thin hair on your shanks obviously felt splendid, you had more problems dealing with the emerging sprouts in your armpits and at more intimate places. Not to mention the itching of growing hair.

“That's what I call a show.”

Like a scalded cat you spun around in the cold water, covering your breasts with your hands – although under water, you didn't want to take any risk. 

Ashore, on top of one of the bigger boulders, sat Micah, smoking and watching you visibly satisfied. More shocking than this sight was the fact that he had _your clothes_ at his side. 

“What are you doin' here?”, you demanded to know, your voice a tad too shrill. Glancing carefully over your shoulder you went deeper into the river while hoping to not get carried away by the current.  
Some sort of unpleasant hysteria crawled into your mind. 

“Well, just enjoying the view of what I'll soon have”, the man responded, disgustingly so.

“Ever heard of idle wishes? 'cause that's one of 'em!”

“And if I keep your _clothes_ 'til I get what I want?”

“You're a disgusting pervert!”, you panted, jittering in the water. You had to get out of the river, as soon as possible. But where to go? There was no way you'd allow Micah to see you naked. You didn't care for all the people in your favourite sauna. But here you did.

“You're alone, kiddo. I always get what I want.”

“For the longest time, son of a bitch.”

“Oh, sure, show me yer teeth, kiddo. I like when they bite.”

_Not even a rattlesnake would bite you freely_ , you thought disgusted. 

“Get lost”, you said out loud.

“No.”

“Get lost.”

“No.”

“Piss off!”

“No.” He still grinned winningly. He had your clothes and everything. And he knew who had the upper hand. 

“ _Me solum relinquatis!_ ”

Above you the sky suddenly started to darken with thick clouds, far away thunder growled, causing the air around you to vibrate. Lightings flashed around you, sending grotesque shadows through the water and nearby woods. 

A stiff wind hauled through the valley, your goosebumps grew bigger and you watched Micah's cigarette getting dragged away by the gust. It got dark around you and you had the bad feeling it had something to do with you. 

The man stared at you, staggered at first, then angry. 

“Don'tcha dare cursing me, witch!” He jumped off he boulder, slowly retreating some steps from you, his coat fluttered in the wind. 

“I told ya to get lost!” Now that was a unrestrained and angry scream. That man just made you lose your mind. You wanted to murder him right now. 

“Come and dare fight me like a real man then!”, Micah shouted, now as angry as you were. 

“Fuck you!” Fine. Fine – he should have it that way. Fine with you! You threw your hands up and went out of the water, ready to fight.  
Only – the water came with you. Around you the river kept floating, no matter how close you came to the bank.  
Your skin tingled and stung like you were surrounded by ice and not by water. Luckily your anger kept you warm – hot headed and bad tempered, but warm.  
“Get lost! Leave me alone!”

“W-witch!”

“Right!”

Finally Micah ran away, clearly frightened, much to your satisfaction. As soon as you calmed down a bit, the water around you disappeared – leaving you to stand at the bank, naked and suddenly shivering.  
Hastily you grabbed the linen cloth and wrapped it around you. You threw the soap towards your shoes so you wouldn't forget it later. 

Your gaze wandered to the sky and then to the river. Rays of sunlight glistened there, as bright and clear like diamonds. As you looked up again, you spotted something in the branches of a tree on the other side of the river.  
A raven. It blinked at you.  
You vacillated, then waved at the corvid.  
After that, you took your stuff and made your way back to camp. You didn't think Micah would lie in wait for you, not after what you'd done a few minutes ago. Surely he still was afraid and confused and distraught.  
Somehow you liked it that way.

And quite interesting, what had happened, wasn't it? What else could you do while being in a fury? You gave that thought a minute to wander through your brain, then you threw it out – you didn't _really_ want to know what you were capable of. Not in general. Just not now. Not that you didn't consider it.  
But if the price for great magic was to lose your mind, you had no interest in paying it. So, rather no big scary magic.  
Maybe you could learn to control it. That would be different and convenient.  
Interesting. Absolutely so.  
Lost in your thoughts you wandered through the forest, sun shining down onto you and drying your skin. 

The first half of the day you spent on personal hygiene – brushing your teeth, combing your hair, abusing Arthur's mirror to pop some pimples – though, you ought to feel lucky, since you were here there were not as many blackheads and pimples as there had been before.  
Obviously this miserable situation of yours had the one or other sunny side. 

In the meantime you had exchanged your silk pants with the trousers Mr. Milton had bought for you. You were still wearing your crop top – that style looked cool and you were happy with that. 

Mr. Pearson was also happy while you helped him cooking, entertaining him with weird made up stories. After that you fed the chickens.  
Micah stayed away from you in a manner you thought of as encouraging. If it only were like that forever.  
In between Tilly came over to you, chatted with you for a while about irrelevances until she dared to pull you away from the chicken and out of earshot from Mr. Pearson.

The two of you crouched down in a rather shut off corner of the camp – you shot the young woman a questioning look.

“I got a … I gotta ask you something”, Tilly slowly said. “You can deny if you wanna.”

“What's that?” You glanced around to corner to check if nobody listened and found none of the others had noticed you two were away. 

“You're a fortune-teller.” Obviously she didn't know how to phrase her plead. Her brown eyes almost burned into yours, silently begging you to understand what she didn't dare saying. “And a witch.”

“Sure.”

“Do you know about _Voudou_?”

“Sure. What do you need, Tilly?”

“Can you... do you know any protection spell for us girls? Micah's a real drag, he never lets us be. It's getting worse. I feel so stupid to ask that from you.” She lowered her head, clearly ashamed.  
Carefully you took her delicate hands into yours, softly squeezing them, smiling at her.  
“I mean... yer _white_ and me... me as a black gal ask for your help. But I never had...”

“Don't do this to you. It's not stupid to ask for help. Micah is a terrible person, worse than Dutch thinks he is. I'll find something to protect you and the girls”, you promised.

“Thank you.” Smiling lightly, Tilly got up and went away.

_Voudou, you dumbass_ , you thought to yourself, angry again. Not your speciality, not at all. Not really your religion. Not really your gods. Not something you wanted to mess with. And Tilly was right, you were not black. You had no ancestors practising Voudou so you had by all means no right to even try it.   
Sighing you stood up. Whatever you'd do for Tilly, it would have candles and salt and for protection pepper and chilli always worked.   
You had to get to town. And you weren't thinking about Valentine right now.   
You had to go to Saint Denis, you had to go to a place where a lot of black folks lived. 

To get there, you needed money. And you didn't want to use the stolen one – no need for everybody to know you could afford a fancy living. No, you had to ask somebody to give you that pretty green paper stuff. Them shiny coins.  
You should go ask Dutch what he thought about some sort of basic salary. To pay for your existence and your efforts. 

Lazily you strolled towards Dutch's tent, peering inside. Molly O'Shea sat there, reading something, seemed like a letter to you.  
Her red hair almost glowed like fire in the warm morning light, her pale skin seemed to be powdered with gold. That woman truly was a phenomenon. While she read through the letter her red lips moved as if she was reading it out loud.   
In this moment you wondered why Dutch had taken a gem like her into the wilderness – not only that, he'd taken her onto the street, into a life of misery. What a shame.   
She was made for saloons, for parties and feasts. Luxury and jewellery. Not for some place like here. And you knew that Molly knew. You pitied her, how she sat alone in that tent all the time. 

You cleared your throat as decently as possible, still the head of the red haired woman shot up – just like somebody who had been caught doing forbidden stuff would act. 

“Hi Molly”, you greeted her, staying at the entrance of the tent. At least you showed a tiny bit of respect, you were by all means no burglar.  
Well, at least you didn't break into other peoples houses. Taking their treasures was something totally different.

“Oh, hello Skuld.” She threw you a questioning glance.

“Molly, do you happen to know where Dutch is?”

“He's at town with the others”, she said, shrugged her shoulders and turned her head to read on in the letter. Somehow she seemed distant. Probably everybody asked her about Dutch, but never how she felt.   
And you were none the better. 

_I won't accept that_ , you decided; so you stayed at the entrance of the tent. You knew well enough that tenacity was the prestage of obtrusiveness – that was from Peter Rudl and he was right with it – but you had to take that risk it seemed. That poor woman was totally depleted; socially as well as intellectually. No aspiration or encouragement was to be expected from the other gang members for her. 

“Do you need anything from town?”, you asked her right away.

Molly's gaze searched and found yours, her green eyes squinted as if to see if you were joking with her. Obviously that wouldn't be the first time somebody messed with her. 

“If you ask like that... maybe some scented soap and powder.”

Powder? Scented soap? You looked at her, thinking. Which money would you use to buy that stuff? Would the riches from Blackwater be enough for that? You bit the insides of your cheeks to smother that hysteric laughter which wanted to escape your mouth. 

You could open up a luxury hotel with Molly, it would have a swimming pool and marble floors and palms and hot waiters, who would have to walk around without shirts, only trousers. It would be a girls palace. With fluffy bathrobes, saunas and masseurs. With chocolate dipped strawberries, champagne and thrilling adventures – and in the evenings there would be philosophical readings.   
_Molly, let's go have a fancy, pretty life and forget about those men_ , you wanted to tell her. But you didn't.

Instead, you grinned at her and offered your hand. “Come with me, then. We both fit on my horse, no problem.”

“You... take me with you to town?”

“Sure. Why not? You gotta buy stuff and I do, too. So, why not take you with me?”

The next moment she had taken your hand, putting the letter aside. You pulled her out of the tent and a few moments later you rushed to your half-blind nag, giggling like school girls.   
You did not mention the fact that you had absolutely no idea how to ride a horse. Somehow it would work out – after all you had been vaulting for a few weeks in your life. You were sure it was like riding a bike, one couldn't really unlearn it.

After it had taken you about ten minutes to mount Wodan, Molly and you were finally sitting halfway comfortably on the nags' back.   
Obviously Molly had seen through your lie immediately, sitting behind you she was – reasonably – critically worried. But you managed to seem confident enough, so the redhead wrapped her arms around your waist to hold on.

“Yer really... peculiar”, the Irish woman mentioned, toughening the grip around you as you lured Wodan with sweet words, compliments and soft pulling on his bridle to turn around so you could leave camp.  
Was there really a need to tell her that she was right? And on other news, you had a horse to ride, which took all your concentration. 

Riding itself didn't pose big trouble, the strong, muscular horse underneath you knew exactly how to move and let you direct him with ease. That lucky circumstance gave you the opportunity to praise him at all occasions.  
Though you knew that Wodan didn't magically learn how to carry around humans – most likely you weren't the first ones to sit on him and he knew very well what was expected from him. 

“I'm glad you're coming with me”, you said as you noticed that you'd already covered a third of the way to Valentine. 

“I'm glad yer asked me.”

The following silence was pleasant and warm and you rode on. Heavy and reassuringly the revolver rubbed at your upper leg. You'd taken that thing with you, just in case.  
Who knew how good a shoot Molly was? Who knew how good a shoot you were? But still you didn't want to go unprotected on that small adventure called shopping. There was always the possibility of bandits trying to rob you – although you didn't know if you could actually shoot somebody, you didn't feel as defenceless. 

Wodan huffed and you wondered if his blind eye caused him any trouble seeing his whole surroundings, but he kept on his easygoing trot without throwing Molly or you off. The horse was everything but nervous. And you were more than glad about that.  
He deserved a delicious treat, so you'd get him some at town.

“Skuld, where are yer from?”, Molly suddenly asked, her husky voice surprisingly soft and curious. 

Well, what to say to that? The only thing that came to your mind was a German rhyme about Servant Rupert _Draußen vom Walde komme ich her, ich muss dir sagen, bald gibt es keine Gangmitglieder mehr_ \- though that wasn't quite right, it was a mockery and since Molly didn't speak any German she would miss the joke. Rather not say that.

“Do you mean where I was born?”

“Aye. Where were yer livin' before ye've met us?”

Damn, her slang sometimes was hard to understand, although you dared say she hadn't really started. 

“I was born in Germany. I travelled here to try my luck. Been walkin' around for a while, been working at different places”, you halfway lied and shrugged your shoulders. “But nobody wants to hear the truth. When people ask me to tell them about their future I tell the prettiest lies. They get paid best.”

“Nobody believes the bad things?”

“Who wants to know about imminent misfortune?”

“Aye, must be hard.”

Both of you didn't say a thing after that. What would one say, anyway?

“In Ireland we gotta lot of stories 'bout the Cailleach. She's a famous, mighty witch”, Molly said after a while. 

“Mh-hm.”

“Ma land's shaped by magic and fae.” She stopped, then you could hear her smile. “When I was a kid, I loved them stories. But... the older I got, the more... dunno. The more I lost the believe in these things. The luck 'n everything.”

“You folks have a strong bond with leprechauns, right? Aren't there legends about pooka and dullahan?”, you gladly went on with that topic. Something you knew, something you could talk about. 

A warm breeze caressed your naked upper arms and carried the scent of nature, warmth and freedom to you. You took a deep breath and smiled.   
Wodan wanted to trot faster, you could feel it. Since you didn't want that to happen – you saw yourself laying in the dirt already – you carefully steadied him.

“Ah... aye. That's right.” It seemed like Molly was embarrassed by what you said. “What I wanted to tell yer... I know most the others in camp think yer a fraud. But I know a witch when I see one. And yer are one. And it's not for yer hair that I know it.” She laughed into your neck.

Surprised you stayed silent for a few seconds, then you halfway turned to face her while talking. “You're the first person to just believe me without having proof.”

“Why ain't I? Uch, these Americans – they got no idea 'bout magic, completely depleted and inhibited they are.” You could feel Mollys' nails dig into your waist as she grabbed you tighter. “So, where yer from? No excuses.”

“I'm really from Germany.”

“But yer not from... here.”

“No, I'm not from here.”

With that, the topic was closed and the redhead seemed satisfied. How did she know you didn't quite fit in that world? You had no idea, though you rarely tried to act unsuspicious.   
But it seemed that to her it was the most natural thing to confront you about that and then just not worry about it anymore. What a phenomenon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away but now I'm back!


	20. Underskilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What started as a nice trip to town suddenly is about to turn into chaos and violence. A situation which calls for you to step in! Not to stop it, though. You're not doing that.

As you arrived at the gun shop in Valentine you dismounted Wodan and tied the horse onto a stud, then you helped Molly dismount. While doing so the both of you couldn't help but laugh a bit, flustered at each others roguish expression. Together you walked down the street to the general store.

“Uh... Molly, do you happen to have money with you?”, you wondered, awkwardly glancing over to her. _Gotta keep the play up_ , you told yourself. 

“Sure. And you?”

“No, that's why I wanted to talk to Dutch.”

“Don't worry, I'll pay”, the redhead decided as you entered the store. 

The wooden interior, the sparse assortment and the unmistakable smell of horse let you think about old western movies. Or these thin, grubby dime novels you liked to read – especially that one guy, G.F. Unger, had published a lot and you'd almost read through all of them. Definitely a guilty pleasure you had there. 

Without any haste the both of you roamed through the small store, talked about the goods, shared a laugh or two and enjoyed the stay. Being with Molly almost felt like being with your friends, easygoing, fun and honest. You missed your friends. A lot. 

But Molly didn't give you a chance to even just dip a toe into dark thoughts about _your_ place, she took you with her to the store owner to pay for the things you had collected. Some underpants for you as well as worn boots; scented soap, powder and curd soap for Molly. After that you searched for a few candles, salt and rum. Nowhere was pepper or chilli to be found. Well, you'd get that elsewhere. 

To mark the occasion, Molly got each of you a chocolate bar. Unsurprisingly it didn't taste as sweet as the ones you knew – it was a bit bitter and you had the suspicion that this bar contained way more cocoa than any in your place would have. Still delicious. 

You sat outside of the store on a bench an chatted about Ireland, Dutch and what had happened in Blackwater. Molly eagerly filled the holes in the story you had, she obviously enjoyed the attention you gave her. After she had stopped talking a cosy silence fell upon you. But not for long.

“Yer lookin' terrible with that shiner”, Molly stated and eyed you thoroughly. “And I dunno if anybody else woulda done the same for yer.”

“Well, I would've defended every girl in that situation”, you replied, shortly shrugging your shoulders. “Karen or not – men who thrash others, especially women, need a good thrashing themselves.” Turning to Molly, you allowed a wolfish grin while taking a bite from your chocolate bar. “I always dreamt of doing somethin' like that. But don't tell the others. They already think I'm bonkers.”

“Ain't yer?”

“Molly, I think you may be right about that.” A laugh tumbled out of your mouth before you could help it and the woman at your side joined you, her eyes glistened with fun.

It was then when you let your gaze wander about the place that you spotted Arthur entering the saloon next to the general store. He hadn't taken any notice of the two of you and suddenly you remembered that Javier and Charles had to be there, too. Together with some floosies who had not seen a penny from them up to now.  
The urge to go and watch the following unseemly matter was insuperable.  
And because Madame often gave full scope to her cravings you got up and excused yourself, leaving Molly on that bench – in safety.

Determined you entered the saloon, just at that moment a black haired woman called Arthur a pussy cat. Stifling a giggle you leaned against the piano in a way so the cowboys couldn't see you if they just glanced over to where you were.  
For a second you eyed the three men at the bar. These were now your friends in a world where you were nothing but an intruder. These outlaws meant more to you than you'd ever thought they _could_. 

Javier somehow fitted into this place, he was the born womanizer, although he never even made any saucy comments at camp. He knew how he looked, how to play his charm. And he liked having a drink.

But it was strange seeing Charles in here. In this room full of drunkards and whores he was too calm, too poised – sure he could use the company of a woman once in a while, but he just didn't strike you as a saloon-type-of-guy. Especially with this being real real now. 

“Exactly, yes he's a pussy … cat.” Javier seemed to be a tad tipsy, but not enough to make him slur. “Ain't that so, Arthur?” 

“Whatever you say.” The taller man almost waved it off. “How much you cost, anyway?”, he went on asking the women, eyeing them like meat at the butchers. 

“Well ain't that a nice way to talk to a lady?”, the copper haired whore replied cheekily, obviously she wanted to flirt. Close under that flirty surface lay anger. And you could understand her. You wouldn't like such questions, too, if you were a whore. Not in that tone.  
On the other hand – you would've shocked Arthur with an unreasonable high price, causing him to re-evaluate his life choices. Unfortunately these ladies didn't have that idea.

“Oh, I didn't know I was talking to a lady.”

_Clapback_ , you thought, amused. Still, you pitied the women, that sharp tone wasn't really necessary.

“Excuse me.” First the copper haired woman left, her considerable bust billowed with every step in her loose blouse and you couldn't help but stare. She was attractive with her pale skin, those blue eyes and her curves, there was no denying that.  
Her black haired friend followed suit, although Charles held her hand longer than required.  
Did you feel awkward at that sight? Absolutely, you felt a tiny sting of envy. Would you worry a lot about that? Probably. Should you do that? Definitely not.

“Well, I must say... you got a fine way with the women _amigo_.”

“Yeah, a regular dandy and charmer”, you heard Arthur grin. Javier laughed at that.  
The men had a shot. “Where's Bill?”

“Oh, man, I dread to think about it”, Javier sighed, halfway laying on the counter.

At that moment the saloon-door got pushed open violently – you took it as a sign to softly tap the piano player onto his shoulder. He gave you a puzzled look.

“Sir, could you play something vigorous? It's gonna be great.”

“Miss?”

“C'mon, something spicy.” Grinning you pushed yourself off the piano. You strolled towards Bill, who was wasted beyond good and evil. He stumbled in the general direction of the bar, got jostled by a poor feller; what followed was a colourful, explicit rated verbal hassle.

That hassle escalated as soon as Bill decided to tackle the – definitely better dressed – man, using his whole massive body. To your left you noticed that suddenly every man in the saloon was involved in that fight – including Charles, Javier and Arthur. 

Javier threw an empty bottle at the head of a guy who wanted to throw hands with Bill, Arthur entered the fray with the elegance of a bull while Charles grabbed a chair to kinda throw it through the saloon with no real aim.  
To be perfectly honest with yourself, with this really happening around you – it all seemed way more surreal than in game and worried you to an extent you had not expected. In your memory that fight was a small, fun and entertaining intermezzo.  
The blows which were struck here didn't seem so fun to you and you caught yourself as you unintentionally touched your injured lip. Since this morning it wasn't that swollen anymore. 

On the other hand, though, you didn't mind gaining some more field experience. Not at all. So you quickly scurried through the fighting crowd, unseen by your new friends. Knowing that Bill was facing three men now had made the decision easy enough for you: You'd help him out first.

General shouting and mutual insults were seemingly the only sounds in that saloon; men filled with incomprehensible anger, too eager to let get that out once in a while. 

You were close to Bill now, in front of you a lank guy, still taller than you though. This was no time to overthink. So you let your instincts guide you.  
You felt your fingers grab the stiff fabric of the shirt the man was wearing, you felt your nails scratch over it as you pulled him backwards, away from Bill.  
The man turned halfway around, his enraged face was pale as a white linen sheet. On his forehead red dots appeared. Anger-spots.  
Suddenly you weren't sure you wanted to do that. You felt a lump building in your throat and tried to ignore it.

“What are ya tryin' to do here, whore? This is mens' business!”, he growled at you.  
And that did the trick.

Arrogance was seldom a good companion – but now you mocked the man with it, cocking and eyebrow and giving him your most annoyed look.  
Without double checking you punched your small fist onto his temple – which probably hurt you more than him. Startled at the sudden pain you shook your hand, cursing under your breath.  
At least the man you punched stumbled backwards, holding his head and staring at you in utter confusion.

“Shit, man, I ain't no whore!”, you called out, grabbed a glass from the closest table and threw it at the man.  
Thing is, you never were an ace in sports. Neither broad jump, long throw or shot put. Catching things was more your speciality – all big siblings seemed to be good at that.  
But the massive glass hit. It hit the man right between his eyes, knocking him out.  
You decided that who was realizing things that slowly in fights didn't deserve better.  
The mans' eyes rolled backwards as if to inspect his brain and he fell to the ground. 

You took a look around, all other men were still standing, including the gang-members. That could only mean one thing.

“FIRST BLOOD!”  
While still celebrating that first victory you already jumped onto the back of another guy whose fist had just met Bills' nose. As forceful as possible you rammed the man your elbow into his neck.  
That only caused him to curse loudly – and suddenly he grabbed your leg and tried to get you off him! 

A far away, distinct part of you knew that adrenaline was rushing through your body, that your sympathetic nervous system was at full blast, your body was in a panic – but at that moment you didn't think about that at all.  
Letting out an angry screech you clawed your fingers into his muscular neck, with your left hand you thrashed onto his head and shoulders. You didn't want to get thrown around like a chair!

“The fuck's that kinda pest?!” The man, whom you were hitting quite ineffectively, started walking backwards. He carried you like you didn't weight more than an empty basket.  
Just in time you turned your head around to see that just a few steps ahead was a timber – and on that timber were deer antlers.  
In front of your inner eye you already saw yourself impaled by that, blood ruining your new trousers – killed by stupidity. 

Instinctively you let go of the man, almost jumped off him, falling onto the wooden floor. To get away from him, you tried to get up – instead you got kicked in the ribs. Hot stinging pain flashed through your torso and you gasped as you hit the timber with your shoulder.  
Rising nausea let your sight become blurry for a second, everything seemed to glide from one side to the other. With a short shake of your head you overpowered the feeling of sickness.  
You got on your feet again, holding your side. 

The man who had kicked you frowned at you. “Wanna have more o' that? Some good ol' beatin', lass?” He clicked his tongue in anticipation.

Just then Bill noticed you while throwing an opponent against a wall. His expression showed you everything from confusion to shock to see you at this place.  
But before you could even think about greeting him you noticed a fist flying towards your face – you managed to evade, but it was only a matter of inches. Mid-movement you jumped to your left and snatched two empty bottles from another table. As quick as you cold go you got back to the taller man who tried to follow your movements.  
Glass pieces shattered onto the floor as you smashed the bottles onto the man's head, the stench of stale beer and strong whiskey lingered in the air as your second opponent went down. 

Still holding the sharp bottlenecks in your hands you stood at Bills' side, you could almost feel them vibrate. But then again, the shaking could come from your hands because you were filled with panic, adrenaline and some stupid hysteric high.  
There you heard some ruckus coming from upstairs. Sounded like heavy steps from a heavy guy with a heavy anger-problem. 

Williamson and you exchanged a glance, each of you pulling a face.

“What the hell is going on down here?”, an angry voice wanted to know, filling the room with its ugly vibes. The heavy steps from upstairs now let the stairs quake and you considered running away. To just bunk off, like in a video game.  
But this was no video game and you were no wimp, your mother didn't raise you to run from every inconvenience you might encounter. Though, your mother probably never thought you'd get into a bar-fight. 

“No, Tommy, stay outta this!”, the barkeeper shouted in panic. But Tommy was halfway down the stairs and nothing would stop him now. Big, beefy and in the worst possible mood.  
Softly shaking your head you thought about how different this was – you were quite sure Tommy hadn't been that intimidating in the game. That man was a tower. A tree. A boulder of muscle, filled with rage.  
Your spirits sank deep deep down. Thanks to your defiant birdbrain you still stayed where you were, holding onto your bottlenecks.

“Come here, you little greaser.” Tommy trampled down the last few steps, his way leading to Javier. The human hulk didn't take notice of Bill or you, to him you were like lice. Nasty but not worth the attention.  
You wanted to sigh – in comparison to Tommy Javier was a little twerp and additionally, _greaser_ was racist. 

Unfortunately the Mexican didn't want to take shit from this guy, he literally stormed at Tommy and gave him a rather ineffective blow to the jaw. For that Javier earned a brutal blow to his stomach, sending him fly against the counter – in that moment Arthur got a chair smashed onto his head. The wood broke but not Arthurs' bones.  
You were overchallenged with that. Suddenly you wished you had never come here. But here you were and you had not much time to decide whom to help.

“Ya hit like a girl”, Tommy mocked while lazily following Javier, landing a blow onto the smaller mans' chin.  
This was not to your taste.  
With a quick glance you saw Bill fighting against one of the men who had been scuffling with him before. You wouldn't take that last one out for him, you'd helped him with two already. 

You didn't want to die. You didn't want to get more bruises in your face or anywhere. But even less you wanted to watch Javier getting beaten up, his face thrashed to pudding. Your heart wouldn't be able to handle that.

Just as Tommy punched Javier over to a table and smashed the Mexicans face onto it you threw away the bottlenecks and took a run-up. With a last deep breath you jumped onto the counter. 

“And you fight like a coward!”, you screamed at top of your lungs – stupid but brave.  
The enormously big man didn't react at first. But he had to. He had to or else he'd kill Javier!  
Your inner eye showed you in all clarity a big pool of blood and Javier lying in it, eyes broken and his throat cut.  
Another shot of adrenaline reached your birdbrain. “Turn the fuck around when someone talks to ya! Son of a bitch!” 

That worked. The coarse man turned around to you. Of course Javier had noticed you by now, too.  
As he slowly progressed what he just witnessed, he went pale. More pale than he was by now.  
In a better mood than a few minutes ago you allowed a sly gin – something you probably shouldn't do now. But – fist fight. And you in the middle of it. Somehow you loved it.  
Most certainly you had undiscovered issues.

“And who are ya? His whore?” Tommy laughed snidely. 

“No. I'm the one who's gonna fuck you up.” Well, that may sounded a bit drastic. The thug in front of you arched his eyebrow, still grinning. That expression was located somewhere between angry and predatory.

“Skuld! What are ya doin'?”, you heard Arthur pant – he was caught by a man, being held in a choke and not able to escape easily.  
Charles was fighting off two guys and Bill was too drunk and occupied with evading fists to really help.

“Ya, me? I'll have ya for breakfast, shorty.” Most likely he was right about that. Tommy let his knuckles crack, coming closer to you.  
With your legs spread you stood your ground on the counter, hands in hips. At least you were taller than him that way, it halfway restored your courage.

“Your stomach wouldn't be glad about that, scaredy-pants!” Why were you like that? 

“Just wait, ya stupid whore!” He came running towards you, wanted to grab for your legs. He was big and heavy. You were smaller and more nimble. Hastily you went some steps back on the counter, swinging your hips. Main point was to make him really angry, to provoke him until there was no sense in this man left. So he would let go of Javier.  
Your mother would be horrified. 

“I think there's somebody too slow to hold up with a simple whore”, you mocked the man, putting on a show, a real catwalk. Because when else would you get such a chance?

“Skuld!” Arthur sounded as terrified as your mother would feel. Withal you had so much fun at that moment. You'd regret that, no doubt. But you just were on a roll. 

Tommy followed you along the counter, not letting anybody get his attention away from you. And he was right – at any point each and every counter had to end – and this one rather sooner than later. 

“First I'll give ya a thrashing, whore, and then I'll finish that greaser. And then all your friends will be next. And then I'll fuck ya”, Tommy explained his plan to you, not very businesslike, but you got his point.

“To do that, you should first of all get me, you donkey-breed.” And since you knew it had to come like that, you jumped off the counter before the man could catch up with you. You grabbed two glasses.  
The saloon keeper sat in a small corner and wept for this place.

With a loud grunt Tommy suddenly took a run up. And you realized you had no escape route. It was either back onto the counter or running directly into Tommy. How much energy would you need to tackle him? Definitely too much.  
You stayed where you were, petrified, and stared at the massive man in front of you. He was only two meters away from you. On his forehead you could read WHORE FUCKER and somehow you didn't like that at all. You gulped. The lump in your throat still stayed. Your tongue felt like a dry, sticky rag.

“Any last words, whore?” He grinned, legitimately.

“I would love to insult you... but that would be beyond the level of your intelligence.” This was over already and like the Titanic you had to go down with a concert and everything. Vulgar, cocky and just as thoughtless as you had used your magic before. You could go on doing things like that.

Tommys' face became red, redder, spotty. His artery pulsed dangerously and one of his veins on his forehead was swelling a lot. Weak point, critical hit.  
You felt like 90% fear, but the remaining 10% were fun and pride.

The bulky man started coming closer to you, his right arm halfway outstretched to grab you – without much thought you smashed the glasses into his face, earning a wild grunt from Tommy and causing him to close his eyes to protect them from small shards. You took that opportunity to let yourself fall on the floor immediately – which earned you another sharp pain in your side – and started crawling through his halfway spread legs. After clumsily getting on your feet again you managed to get some space between Tommy and you.

“Fuckin' WHORE!”

“I'm not gonna take that personal, okay”, you dared to shoot him a bold grin, watching as the guy turned to face you again. A nice, ghastly wound decorated his reddened forehead. 

There was enough time for you to think that this wound would heal into a nasty scar, as somebody suddenly shoved you towards Tommy – sending you directly in front of his feet!

Not wasting any time he seized you at your hair, pulling you up onto your feet which was accompanied by your pained clamour. It felt as if he was about to scalp you, as if he'd rip out each and every hair one by one, your skin burned more with every second. You tried to get his hands off you, scratching and pulling on his fingers – it didn't help a bit. 

“Let go!”, you howled as he shook you like you were nothing but a doll.

“Ain't as tough now, he?”, Tommy grunted – the next moment the world around you exploded into a hail of bright stars and blackness and fiery blossoms in front of your eyes while nearly unbearable pain claimed your body – he'd punched his big fist right into your stomach. You let out an agonized groan.

But before you could catch your breath again, still you had bright spots in your vision, he threw you on the floor, kicking you around, hitting your back and your sides – you got smashed against the counter and some chairs, as much as you could feel with your aching body.  
Everything around you turned, you felt sick, you groaned louder, the pain became indistinct, everything hurt, each kick from Tommy grew more dolorous. Your head got banged against different hard objects standing or lying around. Something cut your left arm and your cheek.

Heavily panting you tried to escape, tried to crawl away. Your back hurt.  
Tommy grabbed your hair again, he squatted at your side. He pulled your head up, his face a grim mask – obviously he wanted to end you now. Stertorously you panted and struggled weakly in an attempt to free yourself.

“Let.. me go.” You breathed heavily. “You … weak ass pussy.” If you must die, you'd do it your way – with as much as spitefulness as possible. 

“Say that agai-”

“Hey, tough guy!” Arthurs' voice sounded far away, or as if you were wrapped in a thick layer of cotton – and suddenly your head was free again and you were able to catch your breath for a second.  
You heard men fight. Somebody got thrown around and you were sure it was Tommy. Arthur grunted loudly and you forced yourself to get up and look after Javier. After all, you'd dealt with Tommy to save the Mexican from further damage, though he'd gotten some thrashing anyway. 

After the first step regret hit you right away. Everything still hurt. _Of course_ , you were injured and beaten and you felt nauseous. But the world didn't turn in front of your eyes anymore. At least Tommy hadn't punched your face or head in general.  
_Just don't flag now_ , you told yourself. You cleared your sore throat and tasted blood. Great.

Behind you Charles was still trying to wrestle down one of the other men who didn't want to give up that easily. A groan escaped your lips and you dragged yourself into their direction. You felt warm blood tickle down your arm – and worse, you felt it dripping down your jawline and onto your collarbone.  
Luckily none of the two men noticed you, surprisingly so since you didn't care for being silent. Being unseen helped you a great lot taking a broken off chair leg – which you did very slowly, bending down wasn't good for you right now – and hitting it onto the head of Charles' opponent. It wasn't as forceful as you had wished it'd turn out, but it worked.  
The man screamed in shock and immediately held his hurting head. 

He turned around to see your deranged face; Charles used that moment to knock him out. You panted satisfied. Followed by an ached groan. It felt as if all your ribs were broken, just like your ass. It felt a lot like that.

“What are you doing here?”, Charles demanded to know, clearly taunting – but he was in no position to get you away from the saloon at that moment. His expression became dark, almost worried.

“Well, I'm here”, you said rather weakly. “Can you go help Bill, please? I'll check on Javier.”  
With that you slowly turned around and hobbled to where you'd seen Javier the last time.

Just then you heard glass getting shattered, looked up and got a glimpse of Tommy leaving the saloon to go on beating up Arthur, who now was laying in the mud of the street. It had felt so different playing that. _Because, dumbass, this is no game_ , you thought.  
You wished you weren't that bruised. In that case you would have helped Tommy to a good thrashing. Damn, who were you lying to now? To yourself? Tommy would have killed you if it hadn't been for Arthur. You owed that man your life it seemed.

Javier sat in a corner between the wall and the counter, safe from Tommy, the disgusting thug. His face was all pale and his nose was bleeding. He looked as smashed as you felt. Well, maybe not _as_ bad, but almost. You heart filled with sympathy and you warily knelt down at his side – this you did to nurse you, you didn't think the Mexican would be scared that easily. 

“Javier, you okay?”

“Why are your here?”, he asked instead of answering your question, slowly getting up again. You followed his example, just slower. 

“Heard this place's good for a fight”, you halfway smirked and groaned. “Your nose's bleeding, by the way.”

“You're worried about my nose?” This time Javier almost allowed a laugh. “Charles, our little ruffian here's worried about my nose. _Bonita_ you should see your face.”

What did that mean? Your face? Was there more than the small cut? Please, no more swelling in your face. That was something you really could not deal well with. Carefully you turned around to notice that Charles had joined your chat. He was looking fine, not like he had been fighting off a few guys just a few seconds ago. Different from Javier and you. 

The black haired man crossed his arms and eyed your face, just as told. Without giving a comment he pulled a clean cloth out of his bag and brushed your cheek with it. It burned nastily. You wouldn't ask where that cloth originally came from.  
Just then Charles allowed a soft smile. He nodded towards the exit. Or entrance. “Let's leave.”

Javier and you nodded in agreement and followed Charles. Mother hen with baby chicks. Outside you could hear Bill talk big. As you exited the saloon Javir lit a cigarette, threw you a questioning look and then gave it to you. Thankful you took a drag. You probably had not deserved that, but you had needed it.  
You noticed blood on your slightly shaking fingers and your hands. Was all that from you? You kept smoking. No sense in worrying. 

“You got some more than that?”, Arthur mocked Tommy and placed a nice punch onto the others chin. You enjoyed each second of that.

The other bystanders – quite a lot of people for such a small town – jeered and bawled, rather pro Tommy much to your chagrin. 

“Show him how it's done in Valentine!”, one of the guys, who wore decent clothes and had better manicured hands than you could ever dream of, called out. _That_ guy had never been in a fight for sure.  
Unfortunately Arthur got some punches into his stomach but was able to block the worst of them. You didn't want to imagine how you'd look after such a fight.  
Both men were caked in mud and wet with rain. 

“Stop playin' with him, Arthur!”, Javier, who stood next to you, now smoking his own cigarette, called out to his friend. 

“Kill the peabrain, Morgan!”, Bill encouraged from the other side of the porch. 

But instead Tommy tossed Arthur onto the ground, face first into the mud. The next second he almost sat on the other man, strangling him.  
You threw the men at your side unbelieving glances. 

“Why don't ya help him?”, you asked aloud, hitting just the tone of your grandfather, disappointed and absolutely not amused. 

“He'll manage alone.” The Mexican seemed rather relaxed and not worried at all. Then he looked up. “Come on, Arthur, he's a moron!”

“Don't go easy on him!”, Charles chimed in, sounding a tad impatient.

The fighting men tossed and turned each other through the mud, blew punches, boxed and kicked.  
Now that the pain was slowly fading, you somehow wanted to be part of that again.

“Come on, Arthur, our drinks are waiting.” Javier laughed dirtily while the urge to jump to help Arthur grew inside you. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you knew exactly what was going on there. Man versus man and you as little lass had no business in their fight.  
If you helped Arthur now, his honour and masculinity would irreversibly go down the tube. 

Arthur managed to get on top of Tommy, holding onto his collar and landing punches in his face. Again and again he hit his opponent, blood sprayed out of Tommy's nose and you could swear you saw one or two teeth flying around. There was a lot of blood colouring the ground in a sickening red.  
Out of the corners of your eyes you notices a face you knew working its way through the bystanders. Mr. Downes. Damn. He should definitely not see you here.

“Hey, come on, stop that. Stop! Stop! Please!” Downes practically threw himself between Arthurs' fist and Tommy's face. “Please, I beg you... stop.”

While that happened you slowly retreated from the porch, into the darkest corner you could find between the saloon and the general store. There was really no need for that man to see you together with Arthur and the others.  
You had some money for him with you, but giving it to him now would be... stupid.  
You could hear Downes, sick with tuberculosis and weak, still begging urgently so Arthur would not kill Tommy, please stop, can't you see the man's halfway dead already, you won the fight, so please, Sir, please stop.

You sighed deeply and leaned against a wall. If your whole stay here was like that – sleep, get up, wash, fray, healing liquid, eat, sing and sleep again – well then, good luck, fat chance.  
Just then you noticed that at your side was a rain barrel. Thankful for that coincidence you washed your face and saw the water turn slightly red. You were still bleeding. Great. Why hadn't Charles given that cloth to you so you could stop the bleeding? Had a lady to bleed to death until any a man took action to help her? What kinda place was this? 

Sighing again you went over to the general store. Arthur took the same way. Or, much rather he went to the bench that stood in front of the entrance to the store. He limped a bit.

_Mister Potman, fetch the bill, please_.

“Making new friends I see, Arthur”, you head a voice you knew all too well – only from the game so far, but that changed now. You loved that guy. Kinda sassy but always a dandy with a tad of fun. Turning around you saw the man who belonged to the voice. 

Dutch and Mr. Trelawny approached Arthur, they hadn't noticed you so far. 

“Look who we found sniffing about”, the gang leader said, he seemed to be in one of his better moods. 

“Josiah Trelawny”, Arthur scoffed. Named man made a sublime bow.

“The very same.”

“Well, well... I thought you'd gone to New York.” Arthur was still standing crooked, holding his aching back.

“And miss all this glamour? You must be joking.”

“How are you?” Now Arthur pulled a face, while walking over the porch. He went to the small stairs and set down on a step. 

You took a look about. No sign of Molly. That was frustrating, where had she gone? In any case you had to take her back to camp with you. Or else you'd get murdered right away. 

“... I went to Blackwater looking for you gentlemen. You're not very popular there it seems”, Josiah changed the subject and emitted a happy cry as he noticed the other three men approaching them. “Javier and Charles! I've missed you... and Bill looking as well as can be. Gentlemen, always a pleasure.”

“Before we all get too happy about that... where's our little companion?”, Bill interrupted much to your surprise. That he even remembered you had been in that fray. Should you show yourself? You were not quite convinced that Dutch would favour this behaviour of yours. On the other hand – sooner or later he would find out about it.

“I'm here”, you slowly said, glanced around and saw that Mr. Downes wasn't there anymore. So you left your dark corner and went to the men. Dutch's expression was more than surprised, it was downright terrified and Arthur, too, was speechless. Josiah looked at you quizzically, then back to the men.

“Gentlemen, who is this most peculiar lady?”, Trewlany wondered aloud, carefully taking your left hand into his as you were close enough. He breathed a perfect kiss onto your blood knuckles.  
Amazed you let him do, only blinking at him, then allowed a halfway ashamed smile. How else was Madame to react to such a behaviour?

“I'm Skuld”, you introduced yourself, then looked at Arthur. “You look terrible.”

“Did ya see yer face? You should go see a doctor.”

“How comes the lady is more bruised than all of you together?”, Trewlany went on with his questioning. 

Yeah, well, how could something like that happen? The men exchanged confused looks. Nobody had an answer to that, including you. But you had to defend their honour, at least a bit.

“I got into that fight by accident and couldn't hold back, I had to … join in.” You shrugged your shoulders, groaning as you felt each tendon aching. “Josiah, it's a pleasure to meet you. Good bye.” You dropped at courtesy, grinned and went to do as Arthur had told you. Seeing a doctor probably wasn't the worst idea. Hopefully he would treat you after you had beaten up some townsfolk tonight.

After the doctor had patched you up – four stitches on your cheek and six on your left arm – you took in the fresh air and wished yourself back to your time. Back to old nice local anaesthesia. Well, at least you'd get some cool scars.  
Slowly you went over to Wodan, surprisingly Molly stood there, together with your groceries. She looked as fresh as morning dew. 

“Molly! How long are ya waiting here?”, you called out, feeling guilty. 

“Half an hour. Didn't want Dutch to see me, so I been hiding.” She looked at you apologetically, then she realized what a mess your face was. “Oh dear! I was looking through that window but... yer... yer lookin' like...”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are ya alright?”

You both exchanged an exhausted glance, then you pointed at Wodan. “Shall we go? I'll get ya back to camp, gotta handle something later.”

“What yer need to handle?”, Molly asked while mounting the horse.

“Visit friends. Met them a few days ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter was a fight and is a fight and fitting enough I had to fight through it 'cause for the love of everything I'm not good at writing fight-scenes :D
> 
> So sorry, I thought this would be SHORT. But it's NOT. Bear with me, there will be more gentle friendship stuff later.


	21. Altruism

In the last light of the setting sun the small ranch in front of you seemed welcoming, painted in deep and intense colours. The moon was already visible in the sky, willing to overtake the cope with its silver light. Between some conifers and shrubs high grass was swaying in the light breeze, creating dancing shadows on the ground. 

Wodan pranced nervously from side to side, absently you gave him an apple to chew on and calm down. Weighing deep in your pocket were three hundred dollars; they should be enough for this family.  
You sighed, knowing well enough what you were about to do. Somehow you really loved the gang and you wanted to spare them their shitty fate.  
Taking in a deep breath you dismounted Wodan and slowly waded through the grass. It felt like ghostly fingers through your trousers. 

Decidedly firmly you knocked at the wooden door. 

First there was no reaction, no audible movements, no whispering voices to be heard. You didn't want to be impatient, but you were. You knocked again. The breeze was tugging on your lose hair. 

Finally there was something happening, ever so slowly the door got opened and a brown haired woman glanced at you suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“I'm Miss Nancy. I met your husband a few days ago in town. We'd been talking about donations. Is he here?”, you said as friendly as you could. Which wasn't very hard, to be honest. Friendliness was part of your soon to be job – as long as you could return home and go on studying medicine to become a doctor. _If I can return home_ , you bitterly added in your head.

Still it was strange to hear yourself use that pseudonym again. Actually you were rather glad you had remembered it at all!

“One moment, please.” She closed the door again, which you could fully understand. The way you looked you didn't represent the person one would invite over to dinner, let alone trust. So you waited patiently until she had announced your terrible face to Mr. Downes.

As the door got opened again this time it was Mr. Downes who greeted with a bright smile which quickly faded into worry. 

“Miss Nancy, you look horrible. What happened?” He stepped aside, moving his hand in a wary _Please, come in_ gesture, silently inviting you to his parlor. You followed, nodding thanks at him.  
Mrs. Downes had already put a fourth cup onto the table so you were expected to stay for a few minutes at least. 

_Careful_ , you told yourself, _that man has tuberculosis. Don't infect or else this whole thing is over sooner than expected. Taking the ugly road._

Taking a look around you noticed a lot about the house. It was cosy in a poor way. The interior was sparse and most likely cheap but it had that certain western-charme. Everything was made of wood, there was one big room which served as kitchen, living- and dining-room. It was dominated by a huge hardwood table. In all corners and on all surfaces were tallow candles to light up the house.  
Leading out of this one big room were two doors, obviously sleeping-rooms.

“Oh, I don't really know either. Guess I left a nasty taste in some peoples mouths.” In this case you rather avoided the truth since you knew he was a pacifist.

“Please, sit. Tea or coffee?”

“Tea. Thank you.” You did as told. 

Mrs. Downes tore open the backdoor at that moment. “Archie! Come on in! We got a visitor!”

You suppressed a giggle – this scene reminded you of your home. All people could behave dignified around visitors – one had to be brave to scream around like that with strangers in the house.  
From somewhere behind the house Archie grumbled unintelligible, although you thought he eventually would have to come in.

Mr. and Mrs. Downes decided to sit with you, starting a casual conversation. You talked about the weather, the crop and about Valentine. Soon this wasn't casual anymore and you listened to them talk about poverty. It fueled your anger you noticed.  
In between Archie entered the room and joined the round. You got introduced and went on with your discussion. It was refreshing and awful in a way. There were so many social wrongs you had never thought of.  
But since you wanted to be back at camp at a reasonable time, you decided to do what you came here for.

“Mr. Downes, do you remember your talk a few days ago?”, you started to lead the conversation to where you wanted it to go.

“Sure.” He nodded.

“Did you get approached as I told you would?”

“Indeed.” Now he lowered his head. “You were right, Miss Nancy. Mr. Strauss has offered me a credit. I... I had to take it.”

You wanted to sigh, but didn't. Instead you put your hands onto his, then you looked at his wife – her name was Edith, you'd just forgotten about that until now. “How much money is it?”  
Of course you knew. But you didn't want to do all the work alone. They should feel like they were helping you helping them.

“Forty dollars”, Edith said, her voice trembling with shame, wringing her hands.

Letting go of Mr. Downes' hands you took a sip of your tea. 

“Listen, Miss Nancy... Thomas has told me what ya told him. I... I'm so ashamed. I urged him to take the money.”

“Mrs. Downes, it's okay.” You nodded at her, then started to rummage through your pocket. “Somehow I knew it'd come like that, that's why I'm here.” Slowly you put forty dollars onto the table. “This is for your credit. Pay Mr. Strauss with it.”

“B-but that's... these... that's forty... dollars.” Mrs. Downes stared at you wide eyed.

“Yeah.”

“We cannot take that, Miss Nancy!”, Thomas whispered clearly touched by your gesture. He coughed into his sleeve. Meanwhile Archie was staring at you in awe. 

You smiled confidently. “But of course you'll take it.” With that you almost plunked down the other 260$ on the table, grinning roguish. “Mr. Downes, I told you I'd help you. And I meant it that way. Take the money. I earned it in an honest way – it's not stolen. You just have to promise me one thing. If a man comes to collect the forty dollars, just give it to him. Don't make the mistake to cough at him for infect him in any other way. This man is very important and I need him healthy.”

“B-bu-”

“Thank you!”, Archie suddenly called out, grabbing your hands. “Thank ya so, so much! How can we ever...”

“That's no credit. It's a gift. Just, give the man what you owe Mr. Strauss and leave it be, okay?”

“I promise.” Edith looked at you, her eyes swimming in tears.

“If I come to think about it that way... I might as well pay the debt for you, if you don't mind me doing so.” You took away the forty dollars again and got up. “You'll never hear from Mr. Strauss or any of his men again. I hope we'll meet again.”  
You went to the door and opened it, you didn't want to wear out your welcome. Outside Wodan huffed loudly. 

“Miss Nancy!”, Thomas called out and coughed. 

“Yes?”

“You're an angel.” 

This time you laughed and shook your head, closing the door behind you. An angel. Such a jester, he had no idea who you really were.  
Still grinning you mounted Wodan and rode back to camp. With each time it got better, especially if you sang your favourite Faroese songs. The nag seemed to really love that language.

As you arrived at camp it was already dark. Neither Javier nor Charles were around just like Trelawny. At least you knew where they were, although that did not change a thing about the fact that somewhere at camp Micah was lurking about.  
Before you did anything else, you went to the red box which stood behind Dutch's tent. You put the forty dollars into it and noted it down in the gang journal.  
Just then somebody behind you laughed.  
Why now? Why you? Damn everything.

“Ya really gonna act like ya care for us?”, Micah mouthed off about you – you could feel his crossed arms in your back. Privacy was maximal foreign to him.

“You already forgot how unpleasant I can become?”, you slowly said, knowing all too well that probably nobody except the women and Jack was in camp to protect you. Okay, maybe there was Pearson who could swing his kitchen knife for you.  
At second thought, there actually were some people here who would help you. Hosea and Lenny for example. And not to forget Arthur. But that guy was probably sleeping by now.

“And you're forgettin' that you're weak right now.”

“No. I haven't forgotten that.” How could you? Although the pain was becoming less it still lingered, ready to pierce you at any given moment. Ignoring Micah as much as possible you threw some more money into the box, also noting that down. From Dutch for Dutch. Hehe.  
You evaded the stinky man behind you, taking big steps to get to Mr. Strauss. Unfortunately Micah followed you.

“Mister Strauss, for a word.”

“Miss Skuld.” The lanky man eyed you carefully, taking in your beaten face, the stitches you had, Micah behind you like an annoying shadow. 58.

“I met Mr. Downes, he's paid his debt. I've put the money into the box and noted it. Was that right?”, you told the man and unwittingly licked your lower lip. Again you tasted blood. You were quite sure Charles had his bag with him so you couldn't nurse your wounds this time. 

“Y-yes. That's right.” Mr. Strauss nodded. “But how could he pay it off that fast?”

“Who knows. Maybe he's sold his wife?” Shrugging your shoulders you went away, not interested at all in telling that man more than necessary.

“Good girl, now we're rid of that old feller”, Micah grinned audibly behind you, causing you to roll your eyes at that. 

“Would you just leave me alone?” 

“Why would I?”

“Because you're disgusting?”

That hit. Deep and dirty. Micah glared at you, grumbled something nasty and stalked away. Finally. If you had only known before that it was that easy to get rid of him. 

You went to your sleeping place and sat down on your blanket. There you allowed yourself to take some deep breaths and suffer a bit on your own, allowing your body and soul to ache. Everybody said this is what people should do. To accept the own person and your faults. Or something like that.  
Still you did not want to get lost your faults and you had absolutely no desire to cry at camp, so you rather thought about what you would try to do the next day.

Plan was that you would join Arthur to save Sean, who was still held imprisoned in Blackwater. But he was about to be transported to a state prison. Poor, Irish Sean.  
Though there still was to consider at which time Arthur wanted to get going. Since you didn't know, you achingly got up again and shuffled through camp in search for Good Boah. To be honest you rather stumbled around, tired by pain and very low energy, until you finally spotted his broad shoulders and his old hat.  
As one might expect, he was sitting on his cot, scribbling something into his journal.  
Relieved you just sat down at his side without asking for permission. 

“Arthur, when are we leaving tomorrow?”

The man stared at you for a second, comprehending who suddenly was sitting on his cot and what you had asked. He cleared his throat, swiftly closing his journal. “Excuse me?”

“Ya know, go to Javier, Charles and Trewlany, safe Sean”, you explained the plan.

“Well... you're not coming with me.”

“But of course I'll come. That's for sure.”

“Just take a look at ya, Skuld. You're a mess”, Arthur talked against your decision. He put his hands on your shoulders, staring you in the eyes. “You need rest and no shooting.”

“Oh, right. There'll be a shooting.” You sighed and thought about the matter. Counted men in your head. “There'll be twenty-six men against the three of you. I cannot shoot.”

“And how the hell ya wanna know that now?”

“Fortune telling and stuff.”

He put his hands off your shoulders again, his expression tired and worn out. Slowly he returned to his former sitting position, which allowed you to take in his face in profile. Handsome indeed.  
Following an intuition you leaned against his right shoulder, silently whining as your freshly stitched up arm touched his. What a shame. In that moment you forgot Arthur and the others, your mind tumbled and turned and called you out for not bringing ibuprofen, novalgin or tilidin.  
In general you wished for more experience when it came to frays, some karate lessons would have served you well to get out of the bar as victorious.  
That would have been a sight! Madame throwing around grown ass men like puppets, looking fabulous while doing so. 

Just then you felt Arthur's hand on your right shoulder. He gave it a short pat, then his fingers rested still.

“You won't come with me tomorrow. No way.”

“Well, I will.”

“No.”

“You bet.”

“No.”

You looked over to him, catching a glimpse of an ever so slight grin on his face. So he was not all mean and no fun and ever so stern. Ha. You knew!  
Shaking your head softly, you slid your face closer to his, you could almost feel his stubble on your nose. The man had stopped grinning, instead he now watched you rather concerned, his eyes searching for yours so he could evaluate the situation.  
In order to not just fall to one side – after all you _were_ weak and beaten – you shamelessly grabbed his left shoulder, feeling his whole body tense up.  
You smirked winningly.  
“I sure do.”  
As unpleasantly close you were to his face, as fast you moved away again.

Arthur let out an annoyed sigh, then eyed you while putting his hand off your shoulder – again. “If you come with me, what ya wanna do then? You're not helping.”

“It's the taking part that counts.” At least that's what all sports teachers in the world say to get the lazy and unmotivated kids going. Or if the own team is losing. What a corny line. And how fitting. You patted his chest in a dudish way since that was the only part of him you could touch without feeling an immense pain. Then you got up, slowly but steadily. He had to sleep a bit before he would start this rescue thing tomorrow.

“Skuld?” His voice sounded velvety, questioning.

“Arthur?”

“Why did ya come to the bar?”

Crossing your arms in front of your chest stinging pain reminded you of the wound on your left upper arm. “Well, first of all, Mister Morgan, I'm still free to go to any bar I want to and second... second...” You shuffled your foot on the ground, then looked away. “And secondly I knew that this guy would beat up Javier badly. And that..” A soft shrug of your shoulders followed, followed by another pained expression. 

Without a word Arthur signed you to come back to him. Too tired to object you went back to him, sitting down again. Now that you could rest you slumped down even more.

“Don't overdo yourself for us”, Arthur said silently.

“I wouldn't dream of it.” The sarcasm wasn't hidden at all, as well as your giggle. So that's what he thought about you. That you would overdo yourself for them. Just because you had a few scratches. They would heal eventually. But if some of the good men from the group got hurt – if you let that happen, you'd have to suffer forever knowing you could have avoided it.  
No, one couldn't say that you were overdoing yourself.

“I mean it. Take it slow.”

“I can't, Arthur. If you knew what I know you'd laugh at me.”

“Well, then tell me.”

“What? No.” You would most definitely not tell him that you had saved him from tuberculosis today. Or that you were planning on murdering Micah. Or that Strauss hopefully was rethinking his occupation and change his style of work. 

“Why not?” He leaned closer to you, in his eyes a thousand questions burned which he didn't dare to ask. 

To avoid looking into these crystal clear and somehow sad irises you instead stared at the scar on his chin. It had been a wound reaching to the subcutis – no hair was growing there anymore. Glands and nerves had been damaged. You bit the insides of your cheeks.

Just how should you tell him that you were no real fortune teller? Never been. That you used real magic to help you and your friends, to deal with injustice which can be dealt with. How should you tell him that just today you had seen another side of that magic. A dark and strong one, one that was mighty and uncontrollable? How should you tell him that you only knew their faces and stories from a video game – that you came from another dimension? Not at all. That's how you told him. Not at all. 

“I can't do it”, you avoided his question again. “You wouldn't believe me.”

“Who says that?”

“Arthur, not even I believe that this is happening.”

He eyed you carefully, his brows softly furrowing, his lips gracing a thoughtful expression. Then he leaned back a bit. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“See, I won't force ya to tell me anything”, Arthur explained calmly, then lit a cigarette.

“Thanks.”

Silently you sat side by side and as you watched him blow blue smoke into the evening sky you thought about one of the doctors you knew. He would always try to frighten people with how cigarettes worked. _One drag on a cigarette reduces the circulation in the fingertips for eight minutes to only 20%. Stop smoking, then you'll have a perfect tissue repair_. 

You wanted to say something. But everything that came to your mind was either nonsense or imprudence. You wanted to hug the man at your side, smother him with non-romantic kisses for his understanding, cuddle into his warmth. You wanted him to put his arm around you like Javier did so often.   
On the other side you wanted him to praise you for your courage, wanted him to tell you you were safe.   
But what was safe for all you knew? Only safety was death.

“Hey.” Softly he nudged you, causing you to turn to face this ungraspable good and handsome man. He smiled conspiratorially. “You wanna have a cigarette?”

“Oh _thank you_ , yes.”

Thankfully you took his half-smoked one, taking a deep drag. Disgusting. But so very good and full of toxins. And who needed circulation in their fingertips anyway? 

“Micah's leavin' ya alone?”

“Hardly.”

“Mhm.”

“Arthur, are you gonna ask or should I?” You threw him an obviously explicit glance.

“Ask what?”

“Can you sleep somewhere near me tonight? Neither Charles nor Javier are here. And Micah's really, really pushy.”

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this chapter I realized I wanted to change some things from the original story I had in mind (and already written ughhhh). I may be slower in updating again for a while since I need to re-write a whole lot


	22. Therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wonder why you plan things so often since it's sheer coincidence that works out best.

Things went a bit different, though. As you went to your sleeping place to lay down – Arthur had offered you to sleep in his cot like _really_ close, but you were afraid you'd accidentally fart at him; so he would sleep at Charles' place instead – you caught sight of Kieran again. That poor man was still tied to the tree. And through all that trouble you had totally forgotten about him. Immediately you felt bad and approached him, tired as you were.

You crouched down at his side, allowing a mild smile. “Hey Kieran.”

The prisoner slowly looked up, recognized you and immediately smiled. His teeth were a terrible sight again. You bet he had the worst oral malodor but didn't want to prove it by smelling it. “H-hey. How are ya?”

“Fine enough I guess.”

“You don't look fine. I-I mean, ya do, but...”

“I know.” You grinned, now sitting down properly, crossing your legs. “Did they give you food by now?”

“Not really... a bit maybe.”

“How about your teeth?”

“My teeth?”

“Yes, your teeth. Do they help ya brush them?” _Why do I even ask?_ , you wondered for you knew the answer already. As expected Kieran shook his head. “Would you mind if I do?”  
Because who needed sleep anyway. Why bother with rest.  
Without waiting for Kieran to actually allow you to take care of his dental hygiene you had already gotten up and went to search for a spare tooth brush. 

Luckily you found one close to Mr. Pearson's tent, sniffed at it and found it didn't stink. With that and a bit of tooth paste you went back to Kieran, who now was halfway standing.

“Ready when you are.”

“Ready for wh-”

Not wasting a second you almost crammed the toothbrush into Kierans' mouth, scrubbing over his teeth, harder over the chewing surfaces, a bit softer close to his gum. While doing so you hummed a bit, concentrating on your work. You could almost see the dental plaque get ablated, which was not too hard to see. These teeth would not only be clean but better be shiny afterwards. 

“Skuld?” 

Oh. That was Arthurs' voice. Was he already searching for you? Still cleaning Kierans' teeth you turned your head to see where the other man was standing.  
Just where you thought he would, in front of your sleeping place.

“Over here”, you called out, then returned to your task.

“What exactly are ya doin' there?” The tall man appeared behind you – though you didn't see it, you could a) sense it and b) tell from Kierans' expression which went from surprised to frightened. 

“Cleaning his teeth, obviously.”

“Ya. But why?”

“Because”, now you turned around to give Arthur your most teacher-like-expression, “his teeth are rotting in his mouth. He's your prisoner, not your soon-to-be-corpse. You lot should take more care of your captives.”

“Well I thought you wanted to sleep.” That sounded like something between bewilderment and amusement.

“I know, I know. Just a sec.”  
You turned away from Arthur, removed the toothbrush from Kierans' mouth and gave him a sip of water to get rid of the little foam there was. Cautiously the man in front of you let his tongue glide over his teeth, his eyes widened and a soft smile spread across his dirty face. 

“They're... clean.”

“Sure hope they are”, you smiled back and put the toothbrush into his pocket. “I'll do that again tomorrow.”

“T-tomorrow?”

“Why tomorrow?”, Arthur wanted to know, too.

“Because dentists say that one should brush their teeth three times a day.”

“Well, if _dentists_ say so.”

“Are ya mockin' me?”

“I'd never.”

“Mister Morgan, get lost”, you laughed. “You can get comfortable, I'll be there in a minute.”

To be clear, you had imagined sleeping close to Arthur before. Not in a sexual or romantic way, you just liked the thought of being cuddled by this big man, safe in his warmth and strength. Protected and cosy, held in his strong arms.  
And as you walked over to your sleeping place you imagined it like that again, just this time it would be real. And he would not hold you but he was _there_ and he was ready to protect you. 

Reality most of the times is a mess, a salty bitch, a gambler who doesn't care for rules – you knew that but managed to deny it as long as possible.  
Sometimes, though, it wasn't to be denied. Reality demanded its reputation to be true. 

You were laying halfway comfortable underneath your thin blanket; Arthur was already stretched out at your side, no blanket, no nothing, his hands crossed behind his head. Wasn't he freezing? Nights were quite cold in your opinion. But then again, you didn't have the skin Arthur had.  
Turning around to face him, you frowned.

“Didn't you bring your blanket?”

“No.”

“Why? Ain't ya cold?”

He sighed. “I don't think I'll need-”

“Really?” Without a second thought you sat up and pushed half your blanket over to him, taking your stuff to get closer to him. “Don't think I'll take a _I don't think I'll need_ as an excuse to catch a cold.”

“That's... uhm...”

Ignoring his confusion you turned your back to him and laid down again. “Good night, Arthur.”  
If you were honest with yourself, you did turn away to calm your beating heart. A touched Arthur was really not what was beneficial for your disposition. Just like a beaten up Javier. Or Soft-Boy-Charles.  
Ice cold horror crept over you, chilling you to the bone as you lay there underneath the stars and the moon and surrounded by the familiar sound of field crickets.  
You liked these three. A lot. 

When you were only playing the game you had used Arthur – which was the playable character – to stalk Charles and Javier. It had been fun until you realized that these NPCs could become annoyed with the player.  
Even then you had felt a small sting of shock and guilt. Because of a simple coding algorithm in a GAME. You had felt like a fool back then.  
And now.  
NOW. Madame, take a deep breath.

Was your dead heart taking a liking on them?  
All your life you had never had a serious relationship – this love-at-first-sight and butterflies in ones stomach and all that had never been something you could relate to. Of course you loved your family and friends. But you loved them like that.  
Not in a Jack-and-Rose-way. Not like Tarzan loved Jane. Not like your colleague loved his husband.  
Additionally you really never had the time to develop romantic feelings due to your job, your hobbies and your magic practice. The lack of a partner had been quite beneficial for all that. 

So why was your heart beating now like that? Bumping in your chest like someone hit their fist against it. Where you close to your period? Probably. Maybe. Most likely.  
Having thought about that, you felt a bit calmer. Your period, of course. Damn those hormones.  
Because if something inside you decided to fall for three men at the same time, there would only be one thing left for you. Thinking: _What the fuck is wrong wit' my life. What the fuck._ Pronounced very hard and with a German slang to make it worse, here we go. 

Still this was a bit much, leaving all that thinking aside, and the throbbing pain that decided to start now wasn't making it better. You felt terribly misplaced, you were tired and you wanted to leave. And you could not for Micah was still alive. And you didn't want to die just now.

As impercebtible as possible you tried to swallow that lump in your throat, taking some deep breaths – which resulted with you feeling even worse.  
They always said that one should let out ones feelings. And what were you doing? A lot of shit talking, flirting, being all mouthy, but letting go – that wasn't for you. Surely you already had dozens of ulcers because of emotional stress.

That stressed you out even more and made you feel guilty because you had treated yourself that poorly. You had ignored the fact that you missed your family, your friends. You missed your study and your work. You missed your room with all the candles and the seashells. You missed listening to the birds in the morning while having your first coffee. Fuck.  
Tears – wherever they came from now – hazed your vision and you wiped your eyes with your hand. Unfortunately you let out a sniff.  
Behind you Arthur moved.

“Skuld?”

“Hm?”

“Are your crying?”, he wanted to know, sounding sleepy but worrying at the same time. His voice was drowsy, rough even.

You didn't want him to have more trouble. But also you did not want to feel anything. So you'd rather enforce that terrible episode of a breakdown now so you would not have to worry about that later.

“No”, you lied. 

“Come on. Look at me.” Carefully he bowed over you to get a glimpse of your horrible face. If he had nightmares later – that was his problem. “You're crying.”

_Well spotted_ , you thought, more angry at yourself than him. “Maybe so.”

“Ya need.. um.. a kerchief?”

_Why are you so worried, man? Why do you look at me? With these your eyes? Why can't you act like it's nothing? Why do you care? You're not supposed to care for me! You hear? Man, don't do that. Don't make it harder than it is._ You felt a tear roll into your earlobe.

“No, thanks.”

“Is there anything I can do for ya?”, he softly mumbled, not certain what to do. Probably he wasn't used to girls crying that easily. And here you were, having a nervous breakdown.

“Can you.. hold me?”  
How much shame one could feel at once you experienced now, since Arthur didn't say a thing – the camp seemed more silent than ever.  
The lump in your throat grew bigger and you had to wipe your watering eyes again. How pathetic! So much for emancipation. So much for you to think you could work this out on your own.

With a single ruthless sob you hid your face in your hands and cried out everything that needed to get off you. The feels, the pain, the loss. Your howling was only muffled by your hands, but not completely silenced.

Suddenly a heavy, strong arm was wrapped around you and you felt Arthur coming closer, rearranging the blanket over the two of you. His rough hand awkwardly caressed your upper arm. 

“Shh... everything's fine.” It was more of a vibrating resonance on your back than actual words. He tried to soothe you, calm you down.

Which stirred your emotions even more. Why was he caring for you?  
Heart-wrenching sobs forced their way out of your throat into the night, leaving you shaking through your temporary despair and shame. Hot tears wetted not only your face but also the blanket which made you feel even worse. 

You were caught in a death-spiral of remorse. Everything you thought, said or did suddenly was damned to be bad for others and you.  
How could you ever think you could change a bit in this place?  
Like a seasick siren you howled into your hands.

After some sort of eternity you had no tears to cry left and some dry cries later you were finally silent.   
At the side of your face magically a kerchief appeared which you thankfully too. You didn't say anything, or else you would have started sobbing again. Harshly you wiped your face, then blew your nose in the least ladylike way possible. 

“Ya feelin' better now?”, Arthur asked behind you, at the same time you felt his kind of relieved sigh in your back.   
Just how stressed he had to be right now because of you.   
You bit your lip and suppressed the urge to drown in self-loathing. That should never happen again. Very awkward.

There you had it. Your problem. You wanted to be perfectly healthy, free of unpleasant emotions – and that didn't work that way. You wanted to be like an block of ice, like stone, reliable and untouched by human, annoying traits. You didn't want to develop the faintest of feelings – whether it be friendship or anything else – for you had no interest in having weaknesses.  
 _Bravo_ , you thought. _I should have such breakdowns more often, I'll get to know myself better each time._  
You didn't answer Arthur, just huffed into the kerchief. 

“Skuld?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“What?” Slowly you turned around. And because he didn't move his arm you were now halfway in his arms, your face close to his collarbone.   
That was kind of a nice view.   
You would have loved to cuddle onto his broad chest, hiding in his warmth, but you didn't dare doing such a thing. Also, such behaviour did not behoove. You weren't here for fun after all. “What are you thanking me for?”

“That you're trusting me.”


	23. Black wings

And before you noticed the night was over again and you found yourself sitting on Wodan. Lazily he followed Arthur on his horse. You were holding a slice of mouldy bread against your cheek, hoping that it would prevent you from getting an infection. Though you knew the doctor had cleaned it with some sort of alcohol, you didn't quite trust it.  
But then again, you put your trust in mouldy bread.  
Like so many people in medieval times had, actually. At least in Europe they had done so, to prevent them from getting gangrene.  
On the other side there was not only one mildew growing on that bread. A life for the risk.

Still you were so tired you had to fight to keep your eyes open. Arthur had roused you in the early morning hours, accompanied you while brushing your teeth – though you had the feeling he would have liked to skip that part – and as you had your first coffee of the day you had talked about Sean.  
Well, he had been talking about Sean, with his rough, sleepdrunk voice. Somewhen at early midmorning you had gathered your things and made your way to get to the other three men. 

With good reason you were wearing the revolver you had gotten from Agent Milton around your hip, although you still had no idea how to use it properly. In an emergency you'd just throw it at your enemies. That would hopefully work, too. 

While Wodan was trotting along the way, Arthur slowed his horse down so he could ride at your side. He watched you handle the nag after a fashion.  
At least you knew that Wodan wasn't going to do anything rash since you bribed him with apples and cookies, which Arthur had given you for exactly that reason. 

“You're getting along fine?”

“Yes. He's great.” You patted Wodans' neck and immediately felt ashamed – with that you just dusted the horse down. All that small, powdery dirt got blown into your face and you sneezed. There was no other option, you had to comb him as soon as possible. Wodan huffed, Arthur chuckled.

“What's his name?”

“Wodan.”

“Now who's Wodan?” Arthur gave a pear to his horse, Bellamy, then looked back to you. 

Were you supposed to tell him all about it? Did you feel like doing that? Nah, not really, the story was long and difficult to tell. So should you? Definitely, you better not let that man die without that knowledge. 

The two of you rode along Dakota River, once in a while deer startled up and scattered away, above your heads wild ducks flew away. It was a lovely scenery.

“Wodan is a Norse God, like, _the_ god, father of the Valkyries. He belongs to the Aesir”, you started to tell him, then stopped to think about what else you could say. Well, you knew a lot more stuff, but what was interesting for Arthur? Which part were you able to leave out of the story? Most likely none. “He's an explorer, always on his search for new knowledge and wisdom. To drink from a special well of wisdom he sacrificed one of his eyes. He's the god of war and the slain.”

Tenderly you ruffled the mane of the stallion. “To understand the runes, Wodan hung himself on Yggdrasil for nine days. He's accompanied by two wolves and two ravens. And since this boy here lacks an eye, too, I thought Wodan fits well enough.”

“That sounds... bizarre”, Arthur said after a while. “As fortune-teller you know a lot 'bout the world.”

“More than I want to.” You thought about climate change and pollution and endangered species. 

Arthur and you went silent again, riding along. He let some time go by until he cleared his throat. “Ya got more of these stories?”

Grinning cheekily you looked over to the man. “More than I want to. You wanna hear some?”

“Unless ya wanna tell me more 'bout yourself.”

“Nah, I'd rather not do that”, you laughed. “I know some good stories about Germanic gods, especially Loki and Odin and Freya. Or some about Hades and Persephone. Or you wanna hear abou-”

A clear laugh interrupted your recital. Arthur looked at you, shaking his head, an uninterpretable expression on his face. “What else do ya know? Ya sure as hell can write and read.”

“Of course. And I'm mediocre blessed when it comes to maths, stochastic is okay, algebra too, but I hate when there are more than two unknown numbers in an equation. I always liked geography, I'm quite good at that actually, as well as with biology”, you started, then went silent. You had no idea which subjects were taught in schools _these_ days in America. Carefully you glanced over to your companion. He just stared at you. “Something's wrong?”

“You're... very educated.”

“I've been throwing around intelligent words.”

“You know exactly what you're talkin' about.”

“Well, if we start like that, then just do me a favour and don't think of yourself as stupid or bad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know how it feels. And I don't want... You're better than you think you are.”

Just as a small smile wanted to tuck on your lips, something crossed your way and you stopped Wodan. The stallion huffed, his nostrils widening.  
A white rabbit had now reached the other side of the way, its fur glistened in the sunlight, its large ears wiggled.  
“No way...”, you mumbled and stared at the animal. The grass in which it sat seemed more dull, a bit browner than the rest. Red eyes stared back at you.  
It lasted only for a moment, then the rabbit turned away again and fled into higher grass where it couldn't be seen anymore. 

You knew you should not read too much into that. A white rabbit was still only a rabbit. But it being alone, it crossing _your_ way – you shook your head, noticing but not caring that Arthur was riding on and you weren't.  
_A white rabbit crossing your path means bad luck_.  
You had even written that down in your notebook – which worked as a grimoire – a few years back when you had done some research on Easter. But also _Seeing a rabbit on the way to work is unlucky_. Like, getting to work already is sometimes unlucky, but with the rabbit it's _especially_ unlucky. 

Deciding to still go on, you followed Arthur, trying to ban that white rabbit from your mind. It could mean really anything and nothing. To others, white rabbits may meant luck, who knew?  
Then again you knew that it wasn't really that way. 

Wodan seemed to be a bit tense after that encounter, as if the stallion could sense something had changed, just a tiny bit, nothing more than you feeling a bit anxious. But the nag nonetheless somehow knew.  
He pranced more than he actually went on, making it harder for you to stay on his back.  
There was no chance one could say you were leading the horse right now.  
To be honest, it was more the other way 'round.

As you caught up to Arthur – which was hard enough – you were sweating more than you'd like to admit. Riding a horse was hard work especially if the horse did not want to go on no more.  
Unfortunately you felt another urge, one that was not to be denied. Unless you wanted something embarrassing to happen to you.  
“Arthur!”, you called out.

The man in front of you stopped Bellamy to halfway turn to face you. “What's up?”

“I need to pee.” Well, you had planned to say it in a more dignified way, but somehow you were too exhausted to really care for such thing. “Can you take Wodan for that time?”

“Uh, sure.” 

You dismounted the stallion and led him to Arthur, who took the reins from you.

Taking big steps you went to the closest group of bigger shrubs to empty your bladder. Your mother would have called that an _Angst-Wiss_ , which roughly translated into fear-pee.  
While you were doing that you happened to think about the white rabbit again. _Just why_ you wondered _did it have to show up. My plan is perfect._

But it wasn't and you knew that. You were still weak from you last fight, still not able to shoot, let alone ride properly on your horse.  
As you stood up again, something to your left and right rustled in the shrubs.  
“Arthur?”, you silently asked, willing to give him shit for watching you pee. Honestly, people should not do that!  
But there was no answer, so you made your way to get out of that dim, dusty light of the thick leaves.

Suddenly your sight was blackened. The buzzing sound of dozens of small wings filled the air, you felt something tickling your arms, your face, your hands. It was all over you!  
A shocked gasp escaped you – then, as you took a step back, you finally realised what caused that sensation.

Black butterflies everywhere. Not just one. At least thirty black butterflies where fluttering around you, sitting on your arms, crawling over your clothes. Their velvety blackness darkened your sight. 

“Okay! I got it!”, you mumbled angrily, huffing annoyed.  
So now you not only had received an omen for bad luck – the white rabbit – no, now you had a death-omen right in front of you.  
You got the message all right. Something wanted you to survive this trip and sent you warnings to not help the men safe Sean.  
The butterflies were quite pushy, always flying in your face as you tried to get out of the small space, as if they wanted something more from you. One cheekily sat on your nose. And as bad as this sign was, these little fellers were beautiful.

You shooed it away with your hand, then sighed. “I won't go help them get Sean back. I'll return as soon as we met the other three.” 

As soon as you had said it out loud, the butterflies retreated into the shrubs, leaving an eerie silence that stuck with you. As if they had never been there.

“Are ya alright?” Arthurs' voice cut through your soft bewilderment, reminding you that he was still waiting for you.

“Yes! Got my clothes stuck in thorns!” With that you went back to your companion who was throwing you a doubting glance. _Well, he rather think I took a shit. I'm not gonna tell him about the butterflies. Or the rabbit._

The two of you arrived at the hill north of Blackwater a bit later than planned, but that didn't bother you. Javier and Charles were still laying on their bellies, scouting the city underneath them with their spyglasses – they didn't talk, the only sound was the soft rustling of dry grass swaying in the breeze. 

Arthur dismounted Bellamy while you took your time to enjoy the sight. Not of Blackwater or nature about you.  
Much rather you eyed the backsides of the two men in front of you. There was seldom such an opportunity and you were sure to take it. Madame knew how to appreciate some sugar for the eye. Most of all, Madame had to make sure it was her period making her all emotional.  
Though, you were sure it was that. Within a week all of that disturbing inner turbulence would be nothing but a terrible memory – allowing you to go back to your actual intention.  
Because you were not as agile as Arthur, you slid off Wodan the easiest way you knew – over the stallion's backside – and followed him.

“How many?”, you heard Javier ask, still peering through his spyglass.

“A lot. Uniforms everywhere.” Charles didn't sound all too optimistic. Why though?

Without hesitation Arthur went up to them, just to lay himself in between them, silently greeting them.  
You didn't know where to put yourself. Just lay yourself across all of them? Heya there, you still needed some instruction on _How to be an outlaw_.

But because you did not want to draw attention towards you, you laid yourself belly first next to Javier; now you were on the right end of the chain.  
Of course, the Mexican noticed you as somebody joining them, looking over. As he realized who exactly was at his side, his head snapped to face Arthur. You decided it was best not greeting him, he didn't look quite happy. You had the feeling his day just went down the drain right now.

“Why did you bring her?”, he asked harshly. 

“Well, there ain't no holdin' 'er back once she wanna go somewhere I guess.”

Now even Charles glanced over to you, frowning. He shook his head slightly, then he returned to scout Blackwater.

“Do you want her to die?”, Javier went on.

“Javier.” It was enough, you could hear him and it wasn't Arthurs' fault you were here now. Additionally you would not stay at this place for too long. “Take a chill pill. I wanted to come here. Or should Arthur tie me up next to Kieran again?”

That silenced him and all of you went back staring at Blackwater. If they only knew that you were already considered a friend of the general store owner. You did not mention that. For safety-reasons. 

“Where's that little Irish bastard?”, Arthur wanted to know, addressing Charles, this time whispering. 

“I'm not quite sure... Trelawny's off trying to find out.”

“Has anyone been into Blackwater to see how things lie?”

“Place is crawling with Pinkertons... bounty hunters”, Javier replied. “Pictures of Dutch and Hosea.”

“We got a lotta money sitting in that town.” Stifled anger was clearly audible in his voice as Arthur shot the place death-stares. You could almost see the dollar bills in his eyes.

Oh, how you wished to say something like _Oh-ho, not anymore, that money's waiting for me in my bank account you losers_. But you wanted to stay alive so you did not do that.

“And that's where it's gonna remain for now.” Javier shook his head, throwing you another unbelieving glance. You cautiously smiled at him. 

“Why haven't they hanged Sean, I wonder.” Arthur took Charles' spyglasses to have a look for himself as to how the situation was. 

“I think he's bait”, Charles said. “Or they want to trial him publicly.”

You slightly turned around to look over your right shoulder, behind you Trelawny was sneaking towards the group around you – nobody had taken notice of him, except you.  
There was many an advantage of knowing the game by heart.

“Gentlemen...” The dandylike man came closer and saw, that by no means there were four men laying around – no, that fourth man was a woman; you. “And lady.” He seemed to be a tiny bit confused.

“Good morning, Trelawny”, you said, remembering your manners. 

“Ah, now I remember you. You are the fierce lady from Valentine.” Now a knowing grin slid on his face, squatting down at your side. “A pleasure having you here.”

Well, at least _somebody_ was glad you were here.

“Pleasure's all mine. Are they taking Sean up the Upper Montana?”, you asked. 

“Exactly.” He raised one of his eyebrows. One kryptid to the other. “They bring him to a federal prison out west.”

“Damn.” Arthur was not pleased at all; he wasn't the only one stressed out. Charles buried his face in his hands for a second, as if to shut out all these negative news, while Javier sighed deeply. The strain of being forced to act now or never was palpable and you were in no mood to deepen their worries. “Well, we can't be rescuing people from some federal prison. We either rescue him now or... cut him loose.”

“We're not cutting anyone loose.” Charles stare was more than determined, his voice, though he whispered, did not tolerate no dissent. He was sweating, his forehead was shiny. It was very hot, you noticed, and that man was still wearing his thick winter cloak, all while you wished you could exchange your clothes for a bikini.

“Of course not.” Slowly Arthur nodded.

“I'm sure Josiah already has an idea as how to do it”, you interrupted and gave these halfway depressed men a warm smile. Whatever helped. 

“And what kind of idea is that?”, Arthur wanted to know, already annoyed. “This ain't as easy as robbin' a stagecoach.”

“Never said it was.”

“The lady's right. We have a chance to safe young Sean. Ike Skelding's boys are moving him to a camp nearby before handing him over to the government”, Josiah said in his most conspirational voice.

“So, I guess... we need to stop them before they get to camp.” Arthur eyed his companions who nodded in agreement. What else where they supposed to do, you wondered? “Charles, why don't you head up to the north side, and we'll head up on the other side of the valley and meet you, that way we have them either direction.” Spoketh – and on command Charles got up. Almost without a sound the tall man left the scene to get to the enemies from up north.

You grew nervous. You had to leave. Soon. Why had you come with Arthur in the first place? To make yourself a heroine? To mark the strongest girl in town? To make the men look at you in awe? You were no Wonder Woman, no Batgirl. No, you had come to feel first hand how losing a single fight felt. So why were you here and not already on your way back to camp?

“Javier, Josiah...” The protagonist of the game sighed and looked at you. “Skuld, come. Let's go see.”

“You're really coming along?”, Trelawny asked while the lot of you sneaked to the horses. Wearing his read cloak, the man looked very fancy. Though his expression was painted with worry. 

“I could ask you the same”, you grinned. “You're not the best shoot out there, are ya?”

That caused the man to grin at you before he turned to Arthur. “Where did you boys get her?”

“I start thinking she got us”, the man said, shrugging his broad shoulders. 

“I have to say, I am glad that all these prunes now can enjoy a lively spirit in between them”, Josiah silently laughed, then he went back being serious again. “You know, Arthur... the government or people whom the government like, seem to be very angry.”

“Sure, well... we'll rescue Sean and then we'll get ourselves lost, good and proper. It's a big country.”

“I hope so.”

Should you dampen to mood like a true douche? Like, really spoil the party? Should you tell them that it would not happen like that? You tried your best not looking at any of them.

“You don't seem keen on rescuing Sean”, Javier noted while the men mounted their horses. “Something's wrong?”

So much for looking away, keeping a neutral face. “Everything's fine, it's just...”

“What do you know?”, Arthur interrupted your stuttering. Right, he knew that you knew a lot. From your first ride to camp. Your insides shrivelled up like an old apple. 

“It's just like you said, I'm of no use here. It's better if I go back to camp, help Miss Grimshaw”, you mumbled. You still saw all these black, shimmering wings, the red eyes staring at you without blinking. It could not be helped, you needed to go back. 

“You sure?”

“I guess. I don't wanna get shot.”

“Well, none of us wants that.” Josiah softly smiled at you.

“Rest assured, one trickster is more than enough for this scheme. And you are the better one today.” You mounted Wodan and sighed. “See you later, boys.”

“Be careful”, Javier said while waving you goodbye, already riding towards the river. 

The other two threw you questioning glances, but waved nonetheless. You smiled reassuringly, then managed to turn Wodan to face Blackwater.  
Something had occurred you a while ago, something that was connected with Agent Milton and the bounty and your big mouth.

You had forgotten to ask the Agent for pictures of the wanted men. Leaving Hosea and Dutch aside – you had not seen any of the others being wanted. And what would you tell the Agent? _I found a group of suspicious people but I haven't seen those whom I search_ \- well, that was suspicious.  
So, while the men were saving Sean, you needed to come up with a plan how to get back to Blackwater and ask for posters without the others suspecting a thing about it. A hard task for a hot day. 

You decided to go back to camp first and have breakfast or lunch with the others, then you'd think about your problem.


	24. Back to school

The whole way back to camp was undisturbed, not a single person crossed your path, not even a fox. The river didn't drag Wodan and you down to the lake. Everything seemed peaceful and friendly.  
Although you knew, of course, that you had known it would be that way. It was either death or happy way back to camp.

And since you had no radio no more, you had to entertain you yourself. Which, honestly, was not too hard. You just started singing songs you knew by heart. Of course everything right now called for you to sing something from the game's soundtrack, but you would not give in to that. You'd just end up crying to _See The Fire In Your Eyes_ and nobody would want that. Especially not you.  
No. 

While patting Wodans' neck you suddenly found yourself already singing, happy and content. It felt good to just let the words flow, not caring if it sounded well enough or not, or if somebody would take notice of how loud you were singing.  
Also, nobody could stop _Country Roads_ from being sung dramatically. 

Only as you reached Limpany, a burnt down small place, you stopped your singing and frowned. There were only black skeletons of former buildings left, except for the prison which was still standing. This place was forlorn and you were not sure if anybody in Valentine still cared about it, though its location was well thought of. Close to the Dakota River, sitting between Strawberry and Valentine, also only a few minutes away from Flatneck Station it surely had provided everything a simple man could need. 

You dismounted Wodan and bound him onto a nearby tree, then you went over to the place. First, there was still green grass but as soon as you reached the former saloon, which was the first building to your left, the ground was dark, burnt up – your every step crunched like you were walking over a thick layer of dry, thin coals.  
It felt damn nasty. Like small bones breaking underneath your shoes.

Since you knew that there was nothing to be found inside all the buildings but one, you headed straight for the Sheriffs' Office. The small house, too, had been blackened by the flames, but that did not discourage you.

Over creaking wooden slates you slid into the building, taking a deep breath. It was not solely displeasing, just … haunting. Somehow. You could smell soot, wood damaged by flames, halfway melted door handles. For a second a soft whispering of a breeze seemed to drag in the stench of burning people and their screams. It was gone as soon as you had grasped what you were sensing. 

Shaking your head – you did not want to think about the panic of being caught in a burning building without a way to escape – you went around the table in the office. It was right to your left and to your great satisfaction there also was a little lock box. 

“There you are, my precious”, you grinned and kneeled down, pulling it out. It was halfway stuck underneath the desk, but with a little force and dirtying your fingers you managed to set it free.  
Roughly cleaning it with your hands, you noticed that it wasn't locked.  
You sat down cross-legged and opened the box carefully, as if to expect a cobra spitting poison into your eyes.  
Of course the was no cobra, no scorpion, nothing. 

Although, nothing wasn't right either.  
In front of your eyes gold glistened in the sparse, dusty sunlight. A big, heavy bar had been hidden in that box and now it was yours, together with a recipe for a horse stimulant.  
Smiling winningly, you grabbed the gold bar and the note and closed the box again.

You had gained gold – which could be traded for quite some money – for the group, in a legal way, without causing a ruckus.  
Of course it would never be as much as you probably owed them (considering Blackwater, that is), but it was a start and a sign of your will to be part of their gang. Dutch would be so proud.

Back at camp, you dismounted Wodan, willing to ask somebody for a currycomb since you wanted to take good care of your horse. But first things first. Get rid of that gold bar. Not that you _wanted_ to give it away, but it wouldn't make you any less rich in your current situation. 

With big steps you approached Dutch, who was sitting in front of his tent, reading something semi-sophisticated. In your opinion the man should rather read something interesting like _The studies of sociology_ and then think hard about it. But who were you to try and educate men in these times?  
Loud classic music blasted over the place, causing you to wonder just why nobody had found you by now.  
Not even deaf people could go by not noticing this acoustic waves.

As your shadow fell over the leader of the gang, he looked up. He seemed to be torn in between wonder and sorrow to see you here, without Arthur and the others.  
He slowly closed the book he was holding.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“Thank you, no”, you said. “I got something for you. Found it on my way back.”

His answer was a single frown. “Where are the others?”

“Still off to save Sean. Arthur's right, I'm not much of a help right now. So I returned and found a place called Limpany. That's where I found that.” You took the gold bar out of your small bag and showed it to Dutch. “I thought you might want it. To buy food or guns or whatever we can use.”

You could see his eyes widen, his lips forming words not yet ready to be said. In the broad light of the sun the gold shimmered and glistened as if to prove its worth alone with its looks. And you saw something else in his dark eyes, something you had never seen before – maybe you had not paid enough attention to this. Or maybe it had not been pointed out like that.  
You could see in Dutch's eyes that he would not use the gold to help the gang. Everything his eyes showed you led to the fact that he would hide it, _keep it safe_ , far from the others in a separate box only he knew where it was.

As the man took the gold bar from you it almost felt like a slap in your face, although you had wanted to give it to him. You put a lot of effort in keeping your composure in that moment. 

“That's... incredible.” Now he smiled at you. And that one was sincere. And it hurt even more. If only it was fake and poisonous. But he was happy in an honest way, happy for himself. “You did good, Miss.”

“Th-thank you.” You forced a shy smile onto your face and left the man as fast as possible. No way you wanted to hear any lies about what he would do with it for the gang. You wouldn't be able to endure such a lie.

Horseshoe Overlook was really amazing, you had to admit. Still, after being here for a few days, it was still beautiful, the landscape, the view, the scents. The sounds. Everything was just... unaltered in its form. No skyscrapers, no highways, no big, stinking industry. At least not here, of course. Somewhere else, sure.  
While you took in all that was good you buried your – now naked – toes into the soft, warm grass. 

“Great view, isn't it?”

Turning your head around, you saw Hosea standing a bit behind you, hands on his hips, his gaze glued to the mountains far off. An almost sad smile graced his mouth. 

“It is.” You looked over to the mountains, too. They were impressive. 

For a while neither of you said a thing, you just took in the sight. 

“May I ask you something?”, Hosea finally said, his voice calm and warm.

“Sure.”

“Are you good at reading?”

“Am I... yes. Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“Well...” He chuckled and it sounded kinda awkward. “I think Jack should learn how to read, but he knows how to distract me with other things. Maybe he takes it better from you?”

Now you turned around again, facing the older man, his expression stern. He was serious. He wanted you to teach that child. He wanted you to take care of a part of Jack's education. You blinked at Hosea, then smiled. There were harder, more painful tasks waiting for you.  
So why not teach a kid a thing or two, really. If it made Hosea happy, it made you happy. Easy equation.

 _Apropos equation. How about I teach Jack maths, too_ , you thought and smiled brightly at Hosea. “Of course I can do that. If you give me some books that are suited for kids.”

“Thank you.” He smiled at you and there you understood why Arthur had stayed with them. It was the most fatherly smile you'd seen in a long time, soft and proud and heartwarming. “I will fetch the books.” With that, he left you standing alone again – alone with the view on these breathtaking mountains. 

Not even an hour later you were sitting with Jack behind a small boulder, eating canned food and chatting away. At first it had been quite strange, but since he liked you for dancing back then, you had a good start.

You asked him to read the label of the can, which he could not. 

“Do you want to know what you're eating before you open the can?”, you wondered.

“I don't know.”

“You know”, you grinned. “Or do you wanna eat stinky fish for lunch?”

“Ew, no!!” Jack giggled as you squeezed your nose with your fingers and pulled a disgusted face. “Ya funny!”

“Haha, I sure am, sometimes”, you chuckled. “Well, see, and if there's no picture, you gotta read what's in the can.”

“Mhm.” The little boy seemed eager to not eat stinky fish for lunch and therefore willing to learn how to avoid that. 

He came closer to you and you pulled out a sheet with the alphabet on it – Hosea had given it to you, it was old and crumpled up, but still everything was good to read. “Okay, let's start with with the letters. Do you see any of them on your can?”


	25. Sanitatem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean is back! And this time, you promise yourself, you'll not make a fool out of you at this party. In order to do that you just won't be part of the party! So easy!

After you had brought back the books to Hosea, as well as Jack to his mother, Abigail, you strolled around for a bit. Not exactly looking for work, but also not looking for trouble. Of that you have had enough for a few days in your opinion.  
By now it was early evening and you started to wonder when the men would be back. It was obvious that in-game time was different from real-time. But still it felt strange.

You went past Pearson's cart and took an apple. Taking small bites out of it you tried to find a distraction. Not that you were bored, no. You were still delighted from teaching Jack how to read. Well, not really _read_. But he was keen on learning the letters so he would be able to read later. Maybe tomorrow you would teach him the abc-song. 

And because you couldn't think of anything to do – to be honest you felt a tad lazy, so you tried to avoid Miss Grimshaw – you sat down against a tree trunk, still eating that tasty, juicy apple.  
You yawned. That breakdown last night and the ride to Blackwater – that had been draining. Leaning against the tree, in the warm evening sun, you felt a nice tiredness sweeping over you. Wouldn't a nap be perfect?

“Wake up! Wake up!”

You blinked, disturbed by somebody shaking you. 

“Come on, wake up! You'll miss the fun!”

“Fun? What fun?”, you mumbled, yawning. What time was it? Daylight was fading, so much you could see through your sleepy eyes. Still blinking you recognized the person in front of you as Tilly.

“They brought Sean back! We're having a party”, the young woman smiled at you, pulling you up. “You can sleep later, we gotta introduce you to him.”

“Oh.” Really, you wanted to decline, to say more, but your mouth wouldn't work. 

“Yes, come now. I mean, even Molly asked for ya.”

There was nothing you could do but follow Tilly, rather stumbling than walking, steps insecure – and while you were at it, you felt the cold creeping up your arms. 

As the two of you arrived at the camp fire, people cheered at Tilly and you. Tilly laughed, went over to Hosea and you could hear her say something along the lines of _slept like a log_ , the silver-haired man chuckled, shortly winked at you, then turned to the young woman at his side again. 

With a quick glance you tried to take in the scenery in front of you, but before you could even halfway comprehend what was going on – of course, a party, but who was where and with whom at this point – somebody put his arm around you, pulling you closer to the fire.

“There she is, our lucky charm!”

Your head shot to your right and although light was weak and the flickering shadows thrown by the fire didn't help, you realized it was Bill holding you. To your surprise he did smell just a bit of sweat. Old sweat and booze and cigarettes. _Quite dainty_ , you thought; at least in your mind you could still be sarcastic.

“Bill! Uh... yeah...”

“Oi! So that's the gal ya said told yer 'bout Trelawny's plan?” Sean beamed, Karen on his lap, a bottle of whiskey in his right hand, his left resting on the woman's waist. He seemed so happy and relaxed you could not help but return the bright smile. 

“Sure is. Knows a lotta stuff, our kiddo here. Knows how to drive men mad, too”, Bill grinned. At that moment he breathed into your direction. Nothing you would want to experience, but life was not always fair. You smelled fresh whiskey and bourbon and whatnot – together with teeth which needed a hard scrub. 

It was hard to not screw up your face, so you patted the man's back and somehow managed to get out of his grip. While doing so, his hand seemed to become bigger by the second. How did he do it? You felt like worm, squirming like a frightened snake.

“Well, hello Skuld!” Waving at you, Sean gave you his sweetest smile.

“Hey Sean. Nice to meet you I guess.”

You both chuckled a bit, then the Irish went back to almost ooze into Karen, caressing her hair, face and hands. As sloppy as he seemed to be, he really adored that woman.  
Giving them one last look you turned away to search for Molly, who had been asking for you – according to Tilly.

Although you did not find Molly, probably she was in Dutch's tent and you certainly did not want to go there, you spotted Sadie Adler. The blonde was sitting well away from the rest of the gang, all alone on a tree trunk. In the white blouse and long, blue skirt she looked innocent, almost fragile. Lonely, too.  
You knew you could do nothing to ease her pain, but you shall be damned if you didn't try.

Without an invitation you sat down at her side, throwing her a short glance, then looking over to the camp fire. Around it several people sat, cheering and singing. Javier played merry songs on his guitar. It seemed so far away from where you sat. Far away and unfitting. Sadie emitted a sort of sadness, deep and resonating, coming from the loss of her beloved husband. 

She didn't look at you. At least not really. A hasty gaze out of heavy-lidded blue eyes, nothing more. 

“Hey”, you finally said, voice low and friendly, giving Sadie a soft smile.

She didn't answer. And who could blame her?

“I'm sure you know who I am. But I wanted to... introduce myself personally.” 

As Sadie didn't say a thing again, you leaned back a bit and gazed over to Karen and Sean. Soon they'd leave the fireplace to have some private time. No need to check on them. You yawned.

“Now they woke you and for what?”

You bit your lower lip, hiding a smile. “Maybe they thought I'd be down for games again.”

“After what happened the last time?” The woman at your side huffed. “They gotta be idiots to think you'd do something like that again.”

“Ya. I mean. I think they're idiots.” You grinned, glancing at Sadie. Now she seemed more lively than a few minutes ago. 

“Some of them are for sure.” Her voice was rasp, raw from many days secretly crying. “Others... I don't know.”

You nodded in agreement, staring at the rising moon. How fast day could fade. There you felt something on your face – not something palpable... you turned your head around. Sadie stared at you, eyeing you from head to toe. The fire sent harsh shadows over her delicate face.

“Why did you come with them?”, she asked. “At the river. Why did you not go away?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you snuffled, not really ladylike. “I guess it's 'cause I...”  
Yes, why did you come with them again? It seemed you had forgotten. Thinking about it, it would be easier to help the outlaws while not staying with them.  
It had been quite an egoistical choice, in retrospect.  
You sighed. “I think it's because I did trust my fellow fortune-teller who told Charles and some others that I would be there and come with them.”

“Well, that's a weak reason.”

“Yes.”

You looked at each other, the faintest of smiles appearing on Sadie's face. A small success, but a success nonetheless.

“But I have to say, there is hope here”, you went on. “Some are good idiots. Maybe if they get a liking to honest, hard work...”

“Do you listen to yourself?”, Sadie wondered, sarcasm dripping off her lips.

“Unfortunately I do.” Another sigh. “But, like Steve Harvey once said, _All men can and will change. But there's only one woman we're going to change for._. So... maybe I'll try to be that woman.” You yawned again. And before Sadie could tell you that what you were saying was complete bullshit, you cleared your throat. “Or maybe I should put it in other words. _I believe people can change. I think that they can learn from mistakes._ ”

“You're optimistic for a captive.”

“I guess.” You allowed a small smile, then you put on an earnest expression again. “What do you say, I'll get us food and drinks and then you can tell me all about your former place in the mountains and Jake?”

Sadie stared at you for a long time, eyes growing bigger, then she turned her head away. You still noticed the tears. Damn you, going too far again. Pushing your luck and pushing it over. 

Just as you were about to apologize, get up and leave, she grabbed your hand, forcing you to stay seated. It had cost her a lot of strength to not cry, you could see and hear it. 

“No. You're... you're right. You're the least to blame. I'll take whiskey.”

It was harder to get the booze than you'd thought. On your way to the box with the desired liquid you got stopped by a drunken Mary-Beth who wanted to dance with you. To keep things short you wrapped your arms around the young woman, laughed with her and danced with her to the box.  
One had to be clever in such a harsh world. 

You sent Mary-Beth to Arthur, telling her to tell him to brighten up. She was eager to do so, since she was sharing your opinion on that. 

Finally you had the alcohol, now for the food. Very important and essential for talking about sad or frustrating or traumatising things. More than the booze, actually.  
You strolled over to Pearson's cart and eyed the things which were there. In that moment you wished for ice cream in those huge extra size packages. Or for a pancake-banana-Nutella-cake. Fucking over the top, but great for such occasions.

“Next time, send Mary-Beth to Uncle to tell him he's not gonna die of his lumbago.”

 _Shit_ , you thought, put on a fake grin and turned to face Arthur. A very angry Arthur, absolutely in no good mood. All because of you and Mary-Beth? You dared to doubt that.  
“Sure, next time.”

“What's that for?” He pointed at the two bottles of whiskey held by your left arm.

“What does it seem like?”

“Nothing good.”

“It's for drinking purpose. Why are you so grumpy? You know, grumpy old Arthur has a ring to it.”

“What?”

“I said you better brighten up. You got Sean back. Everybody's grateful.” You grabbed for some salted meat, apples and a pear. Who knew, maybe Sadie was an early vegetarian? 

Arthur just stared at you, thinking. On his forehead a few wrinkles appeared, his mouth seemed more tight.  
“I saw ya sitting with Mrs. Adler”, he changed the subject so sudden, you almost didn't get what he said.

“Yes, I... we decided to watch the party from across the place.”

“Afraid you'd get into a game again?”

“Just as much as you're afraid to confess other dirty secrets.” 

You grinned at his shook expression; you bit your lower lip. Taking a step backwards, you waved at Arthur. “Don't think I'll ever forget anything ever said. And remember: Brighten up, sweetheart.”  
As fast as you could, you hurried back to Sadie, who was awaiting you.

“What took you so long?”

“You know, drunk girls and grumpy men.”

“We got some great company here”, Sadie mumbled, then inspected the things you'd brought. “Salted meat!”


	26. Secrets

“Now look at that, they're all drunk and happy. Not even Bill is an angry drunk. Well, at least not here”, you heard yourself say, it sounded blurry and cheerful. Peering at the bottle in your hand, you noticed – for the third time within two minutes – that it was halfway empty. 

“You're strange”, Sadie laughed, swaying her bottle, then taking another sip out of it. “I mean.. have you seen your hair?”

“Yess! I know!”, you howled, giggling. Then you took a deep breath to stop the frantic sounds escaping you. It didn't work.  
At least Sadie laughed with you until your stomach hurt and your eyes watered. 

“I'm sorry!”, you gasped after a while. “I'm sorry, you wanted to tell about the time Jake mistook your father for your granddad.” 

“Right.” Sadie stifled another giggle, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shiny. You imagined her sitting like that with Jake, having a great time, laughing about funny accidents which didn't harm any of them.  
Just as she was about to re-start the story – for the fourth time now – somebody interrupted her.

“There you are. I was searching for you.”

“Well, she's hard not to hear”, Sadie snorted with laughter. 

“Okay, thank you, Sadie!”, you called out, brightly smiling at Molly, who was still standing awkwardly in front of you. “Come, sit.”

The redhead did as told, sitting down on your left. She fumbled around on her pretty scarf, her long fingers unable to rest. 

“So, Molly, why were ya searching for me?”

“I... uh...” she glanced at Sadie, then back at you.

“Oh, don't worry about Sadie. She's good. No matter what it is, we gals gotta stick together.”  
Actually this appeared to you as the perfect occasion to involve Sadie more into the gang. Like that she'd get to know at least Molly better, having one person she could go to.

“Do yer remember our ride to Valentine?”, Molly tentatively asked.

“Yes.” At least you remembered her saying that she believed in you, that she knew a witch when she saw one. That she had seemed like a teenager, full of expectations for life.

“I heard Tilly talk to Mary-Beth about...Micah”, she slowly said. “Said you'd make a spell to keep 'em safe from him.”

“Oh thank God you're not alone!”

The three of you looked up just to find Abigail coming towards you. Thankfully she smiled at Molly and you. 

“Abigail! Is Jack finally asleep?”, you wondered aloud.

“Sure he is. Ya kept him busy all afternoon, he almost fell asleep as soon as his head touched the ground. Not even Sean can wake him now”, the black haired woman smiled at you. “Thanks for... I guess everything.”

“Ach, don't mention it. I thought 'bout teaching him how to do maths. You were searching for Sadie?”

“Yes! I's afraid she'd be alone again, so I... but it seems she's not.”

“Oh, maybe it's just perfect timing! Molly wanted to show something to me. And damn me if I leave Sadie behind, but maybe you can keep our places warm?”

“Sure.” With that, Abigail sat down while Molly and you got up. Smiling at each other, you left the other two women back, rather pulling the redhead between the woods into the darker parts.

“Skuld! Yer have to be careful!”, Molly scolded you as soon as you were out of earshot. 

“Careful? I thought you wanted something from me?”

“Ya, I mean, I do. But … listen to me.”

“Okay.”

Molly and you sat down in between some shrubs, hidden from the world. It was darker here and the chill of the night didn't seem to get to you like it usually should. It may was due to the alcohol, but you didn't think so.  
Molly took your hands in hers, they felt soft and warm and delicate. 

“Listen, Skuld, I ain't lying. Not everyone is fond of yer. I heard Strauss talk to Dutch”, she started, kneading your fingers. “Said you got money from somebody who owed Strauss. Said you put some more into the box.”

You frowned. “I did that. I don't understand-”

“Strauss... he said he didn't see yer work in Valentine. Said he doesn't know how yer got to get the money from the man. Said he can't explain where ye got the money from. Said his father once met a witch, ill-bread and devilish. Said witches know all secrets.” She took a careful glance around, her eyes seemed to be haunted by fear. “Skuld, Dutch doesn't know any good 'bout witches. Now he thinks yer one. He... fortune-teller is fine for him, but he cannot deal with somebody more powerful. He thinks yer know where he hid his money.”

“But...”

“I love him. But ye... yer my friend.” 

Now she almost broke your fingers, clawing her nails into your skin. It hurt. Her words hurt. This hurt. You shook your head. Why would Strauss say such things? Why would Dutch allow fear to enter his thinking like that?

“Please, be honest. Do ye know where the money is?”

“Do you ask that for Dutch?”

“No.” 

“Promise me, Molly, that you won't sell me to him, no matter what sweet words or threats he's gonna use on you. I know men like him.” _I know him better than you do_ , you added silently.

“I promise.” Another squeeze from her hands. They felt sweaty and cold, like yours. 

You looked about the place, making sure nobody was listening. Then you took a deep breath. What you were about to say now could cost you your life. Still, somehow you knew the woman in front of you would not tell a thing. She already saw the change in Dutch, more than the others probably.

“I know where the money in Blackwater is. And I could find the money here, if I wanted. But that's not the point. Point is, even if I would get the money for Dutch, he would not be satisfied. He would still insist on stealing and evading the law, he would still defy Cornwall. Do you know how much money there is in Blackwater?”

She softly shook her head, now it was her who bit her lower lip, gulping heavily. “Dutch always said it's not enough to... to start a new life. Always promised me we would.”

“Oh, Molly.” 

You leaned closer to her, freeing your hands – just to wrap them around the woman. She was so alone, following the man she loved without asking questions. She was alone and desperate for a new, better life. To not be on the run anymore. Gently you embraced her, pulling her closer.  
You felt her head sinking against your shoulder, her hair tickling your nose. Slowly she returned the embrace, burying her face deeper into the fabric of your top, tugging on your hair while doing so. 

“He won't...” The uttered words were almost not audible, for Molly still held onto you.

“I don't know”, you whispered. “I hope he will.”

“Promise me something, Skuld.” Now Molly looked up again, trying to pull herself together. She looked other-worldly in the darkness, her bright eyes shimmering with tears, her lips and cheeks reddened. “Don't get the money from Blackwater. Don't get it if Dutch asks ye.”

“I won't.” But there was something else. Something Molly had wanted to ask you, before you were talking about money. “What about Micah, Molly? Except that he's a creep.”

“Yes... Micah. Can you keep him off 'em?”

“I think so, yes. But I need help. I need to go to Saint Denis. I know Dutch won't let me leave again. He doesn't trust me at-”

Suddenly Molly put her hand onto your mouth, looking to your left.  
You heard it, too. Somebody was approaching the two of you. Heavy steps, irregular, as if the person was stumbling. No surprise considering all the alcohol that was flowing.

And, like it was custom, everything that went into the body, had to get out of it again.  
Somebody was coming close to the shrubs where you were hiding. Then you heard something else. That person was humming. 

Your eyes widened. It was Arthur! He had left the party to either pee or take a good dump, undisturbed. How were you supposed to get out of that now, without him seeing you and Molly together?  
You looked at Molly – her face was pale, her eyes unbelieving of the situation.

There was no time for making a big plan. So you just pushed Molly through the shrub behind her, jumping up the next second to whatever sight may await you.  
To be honest, you had your eyes not closed – you should have, but you had not.

Luckily Arthur had his trouser still up, he was tipsy, staring at you in disbelief. His hands, though, were about to undo his jeans. “Y-you?!”

“H-hey Arthur...”

He rubbed his face with his left hand, maybe it was an effort to sober up. His blueish eyes seemed to be brighter in the moonlight. “What are ya doin' here?”

“What do you mean?”  
Except, you knew exactly what he meant. What were you doing so far from the camp, all alone, without any purpose? 

“Away from... the others.”

Well, yes, a penny for a glorious lie. Again, you had to work under pressure. “I wanted to apologize for being sassy.”

“Which time do ya mean?” A smirk appeared on his face, reminding you of the fact that he was handsome in a ruthless way. What a grin could do to his face!

“Now you're being cheeky”, you said, not allowing yourself to take a step backwards. You were not afraid, you didn't dare to be afraid of this man. Why should you be? Still your blood felt like hot iron running through your veins, you did not know if you felt sick or if you started to feel anxious. Was he flirting? Were you? You knew that you tended to do so, quite often to be honest - but you managed to stop that flirting before it could grow to something more serious.

“Can't say I don't like that”, Arthur grinned, coming closer.

“Can't say I thought about the consequence of coming after you”, you simply stated. “Sorry for bothering you. Happy peeing.” You fled the scenery as dignified as possible.


	27. Our Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there is one thing just as bad has having TB it may be a former broken, now fixed heart which gets shattered again. Although you ain't an angel, you can only respect and act due to other's motherly feelings.

This night you slept exceedingly well – be it from going to bed considerably early or drinking just enough to make you drowsy and forget about how chilly it was despite your thin blanket. Maybe it was because Charles had come to sleep at your side as soon as you had found a comfortable position; he had never been into parties and probably never would. So he had preferred your silent, softly snoring company. That way giving you the feeling to be safe and protected.

Maybe it had been because of all these reasons that you woke up at first light – still a bit hungover, but with a stunningly clear idea in your head.  
Slowly you got up, went into the woods to pee, then went to the semi-public water barrel to wash your face and brush your teeth. It was important to always give people the expression that one had their life under control.

As you walked to Pearson's cart to get another pear, you saw Miss Grimshaw silently ranting into her coffee mug; about something you could imagine what it was.  
Before you could change your mind, you went over to the older woman, once again admiring her hairdo. 

“Yo, Miss Grimshaw. What's bothering you?” You sat down facing her.

She grunted incomprehensibly, then took a sip of her damping coffee. “It's Arthur.”

“What 'bout him?”

“Early this morning-”

“Really?”, you interrupted her, suddenly you knew for sure what must have happened. “Don't tell me Mary was here to give him a letter?”

“Of course she di-” Susan put her mug down, now facing you. Her eyes suddenly seemed to burn into your skin as she mustered you. “How do _you_ know? Thought you're a fortune-teller and not a psychic.” 

To avoid answering her, you bit into the pear, chewing slowly. Then, after you'd gulped down, you sighed. Why not take her to your _Team Of Trusted Girls_?  
As a fluffy cloud darkened the light of the rising sun, you took a look around. Nobody else, except Pearson and maybe Kieran – that boy was still tied to the tree and you were honestly wondering if he was sleeping at all – was awake. Your chance, so to say. 

“You're right, Miss Grimshaw. Knowing these things ain't a talent of fortune-tellers. I wouldn't call me a psychic, though. I just happen to... sometimes know stuff. You ain't fond of Mary, right?”

Her face hardened and there was a harsh edge around her red painted lips.

“I take that as a No.”

“Not hard to see, right?”

“It's absolutely obvious”. You grinned.

“Ya see, that woman's been the first big love of Arthur. My, they were all palsy-walsy, though her dad has never taken a liking on the boy. Bless his soul, he tried. She dumped him after... maybe two years. Yes, must've been somethin' like that. We've been to Asheville for a while then. And then... she didn't want to come with us but Arthur was never good enough for her dad. Oh, how grumpy and dark he was after the breakup.” Miss Grimshaw sighed, then threw a soft glance to where Arthur was still sleeping, hat on his face. “Of course they had made a pretty couple. But pretty ain't everything in this world.”

“Damn sure it ain't”, you mumbled, thinking about how some of your colleagues compared the girls from your year, always choosing the pretty blondes over all the others. Except there was a rare red-haired beauty, then the redhead would win. Well, there was no need to tell Susan about that now. 

“And this mornin', I was barely up, I heard somebody get to Arthur's cot. Turns out it was Mary, I shooed her away. Didn't dare to read her letter, though. It's Arthur's business”, Susan concluded her story, pulling a cigarette out of her small bag. “Want one?”

“Sure, thanks.” You took it and bowed a bit so the woman could light it up for you. After taking the first drag, your eyes followed the blueish smoke vanishing in the morning sky. “What if, and please don't judge me now, what if I read the letter and go to see Mary instead? I mean, it's obvious she wants help. What else could she ask him for? Forgiveness? It's a little late for that, don't you think?”

“A little late – I like that.” Grimshaw blew stinky smoke directly towards you, grinning as you pulled a face. “Ya know, I maybe think that idea's not all too bad. Arthur will probably hate ya for that, messing with his personal business. But this woman is not healthy for him.”

“So... you think I should do it?”

The brown haired woman in front of you allowed a short, devilish grin, then took another sip, not taking her eyes off you. As she put the mug down, she killed the cigarette on the table. “I think anger will never be as painful for my boy as a broken heart will be.”

“Wise words, Miss Grimshaw”, you smirked.

“We're in this together, so call me Susan, gal.”

“Will do.” Standing up you softly knocked onto the table, then went to Arthur's cot.  
There the letter lay. You eyed it hostilely. Only one thought about how Mary had played Arthur in the game let your blood boil. One didn't treat people like that, especially not if one claimed to still like them.

Carefully you took it, the paper felt crumbly and yet still soft. Very different from the paper you knew. It felt expensive.  
You shot a short glance over to Arthur, breathing evenly, perfectly undisturbed by your theft. Or did he try to catch you _in flagrante delicto_? It didn't take you long to decide against that, he wasn't that good of an actor to keep this rhythm of breaths up. 

“Wanna read the letter?” Back at the table you sat down cross-legged, taking a second, already lit, cigarette from Susan. Shamelessly you opened the envelope.

“Only if it's interesting.”

“Oh, it's not. Well, most of it.” While unfolding the letter, you got a glimpse of the burning stare from Susan's eyes again. “What?”

“How can you know without reading it first?”, she wondered.

“I am...” _an idiot_ you wanted to say. _For letting my guard down whenever possible it seems_. “Gifted.” You took a drag on the cigarette, then leaned forward. “The letter says she probably meant all those things she said to him, and although she told him they'd never talk again, she ain't too proud to not ask him for help. She'd love to see him again, blabla, she's here in Valentine and-”

“Do me a favour”, Susan interrupted you, tapping the ash off her cigarette. “You go see her.” Again, she looked over to sleeping Arthur. “He's been through so much. So very much. He doesn't deserve to be heartbroken again. And he will, I know my boy.”

“Susan, thank you for asking. It makes me feel better about it. I'll leave immediately. Don't tell him about the letter.”

“Are ya crazy? I don't want my head to be punched to pieces.” She laughed rawly. “Oh, one thing more. Don't ya ever tell anybody that I have motherly feelings for the young lads.”

“Oh, I won't. I like my head where it is.” Smirking you waved her goodbye, walking over to Wodan to saddle him up and get to town. New day, new adventure. What a busy time.

The wooden house in front of you was rather charming, very tidy and with a lot of potted plants in front of its porch and door. And although the sky had darkened by now, the rays of a thunderstormsun lightened some spots of the place, the small lilac and red blossoms of early flowers seemed to burn, the shadows thrown seemed sharper and deeper than usual. You loved oncoming storms. 

After closer inspection you decided that this was a friendly home, maybe to friendly people. At least a place to stay for Mary Linton.  
A few steps led up to the front porch of the house. You dismounted Wodan and tucked your shirt into your trousers. You wanted to make a great first impression. And for a change you had made your hair into a tidy, strict bun which sat thick and moist in the nape of your neck. You had forgotten that you were going to sweat during the ride. You'd open your hair later to let it dry.

Taking big steps you went the steps up towards the door. You were not particularly nervous, but somehow you were. What if this was wrong? What if Arthur had decided to help her? What if he really hated you after this?  
_Still a small price_ , you reminded yourself. And who knew how long you would stay here, after all? Shouldn't you try to make as much change as possible? Right.  
You knocked onto the door.

A few seconds later a lady, equipped with a small handgun, opened the door. Dark brown eyes met yours. She aimed at you, but lowered the weapon the second she realised that there was a woman standing in front of her, not a shady guy.

“Yes, Miss?”, she asked, voice harsh.

“Good morning, ma'am. I'm here for the young widow Linton. Would you tell her I'm here on Mr. Morgan's behalf?”, you asked as politely as you could. And you could be very polite. A true charmer to everybody. 

“Wait here.” With that, the woman closed the door again, leaving you behind on that porch. Well, at least she had not sent you away. Or shot you, for that instance.

You heard her call through the house that there was a visitor for Mrs. Linton and a few seconds later the door got opened again.  
She was beautiful, no doubt. The warm, sharp light seemed to blow kisses onto her tanned skin, her dark hair and full lips. She wore a pretty green blouse with brown frills and a long, dark skirt. Even her nails were pretty.  
You thought you knew what caught Arthur's eye back then at first sight. 

“Who.. are you?”, she said with her velvety voice, staying in the house as if to keep you off her. You could not blame her for that. 

“I'm a friend of Arthur”, you said since you had trouble deciding for a name. Skuld or Nancy? Rather neither. “He sends me after he read your letter. Said you needed help.” As if to prove you spoke the truth you held it up, then put it in your pocket again.

“Well.. yes... thank you. But...” She seemed awkwardly lost in what to say. “I mean... Arthur can't come? I heard he was around, too.”

 _I know._ This time you did not say it. This lady had no business knowing about what you knew. Really. You had to learn how to shut your hole from time to time. “I'm sorry, he's busy.” You stared at your boots, then up at Mary again. “And I want to... my sincerest condolences for your loss. Nobody should lose a loved one that early.” You imagined that a family that rich would make an announcement in some sort of newspaper about the death of Mr. Linton, husband to Mrs. Mary Linton, born Gillis. 

“Oh, thank you... that's very kind of you.” Now she closed the door behind her, coming outside to offer you her hand. “I'm sorry. Where are my manners? I'm Mary Linton.”

Taking her hand, you decided to not be too cruel towards her. After all, you wouldn't give her any chance to fool Arthur into loving her again. “Please, call me Skuld.”

After that somehow awkward yet friendly introduction, you watched Mary wring her hands. 

“So... I know you asked for Arthur, in a way, but it's me you got. I wonder if I am still to any use for you. I mean, I hope it's nothing like bringing the two of you back together, but-”

“Oh, no. No. It's not like that. I'm not...” She sighed, went to the handrail of the porch an leaned against it. “Listen, Skuld, there is a reason I wanted Arthur to come...”

“Which he cannot, unfortunately.”

Another deep sigh. “My family... I'm... I need your help.”

 _Entrance Skuld_ , you thought, _doing the Arthur in this play is what I always wanted to do._ “You mean, the family that's always looked down onto Arthur needs help. And you want me to help them, those who treated my friend so poorly?”

“But it's my little brother, Jamie. Arthur's always been fond of him, you must know that much.” Mary's pleading stare was a lot for you to take. That woman was desperate. But she was also abusive, even if she didn't realise she was. 

“I know he always liked him, at least more compared to the rest of the family”, you slowly said, scratching your neck. You looked up. Like you were somehow feeling itchy, the clouds and sky seemed eager to let that storm loose. 

“Please, Skuld... he's...he broke daddies heart”, she haltered, coming closer to you, her eyes pleading for your understanding. 

“I... don't know. You broke Arthur's heart and it was worse than anybody could have imagined. And after what I know about your father, I'm not sure if he's capable of such feelings.”

“I'm sorry for what I did to him, but Arthur, he wasn't-”

“What your daddy had in his mind for you?”, you ended her sentence, more fierce than intended. You almost put a hand on your mouth, but managed to not do that. “Was it because he wasn't rich enough? Didn't lead a fancy life? Was it for his pure personality? Or all of these things? And why, Mary, did you let your father decide what's best for you and what you gotta do in order to be a good little girl?”

“Because my father loves me!”

Unfortunately Mary – you had to think of her as _daddies little princess_ suddenly – burst into tears at that. Her shoulders jerked with each sob and suddenly you were afraid that lady with the handgun would return to make you pay for your harsh words. 

“Please, Mary, stop crying. It's... a lot, I know.” Well, you were not the best in dealing with emotionally upset people, but at least you tried. “Arthur aside, why is your brother in need of help?”

“He...” The woman sniffed and dried her eyes slowly. “He joined a religious cult. Please you have to get Arthur to help him. He's the only one Jamie will listen to.”

“Why did Jamie join them, you know that?”, you asked, offering Mary a handkerchief. You could be mean but cruel only very seldom.

Taking the handkerchief, Mary sighed deeply. “It's … because of daddy. He wanted Jamie to be a lawyer or investor.”

“And Jamie didn't want to do that.”

“No, he didn't.”

“So he joined them out of spite”, you concluded, staring at Wodan and thinking _What would Arthur do?_ Well, being such a kind soul, he would help her, probably. And fall for her _Oh, Arthur_ and, if he was here instead of you, _I think about you often_. At least he would not see how breathtaking she was. That would worsen the situation even more. 

“Yes. Please, help him. They're bad for him. Please.” She took your hands into hers. “I just want my brother back.”

You sighed, then nodded. Who could blame her for worrying about her younger brother? Who could possibly do that? You had a little sister and you would move mountains to keep her from any harm. So Mary was moving that mountain, her promise to never talk to Arthur again, to save her brother. 

“Okay, Mary. I'll see what I can do.” You freed yourself from her grip and went down the porch to Wodan.   
So much for your self-respect, so much for your rage against Mary as you had played the game. Now you were helping her, again. This time real-life.

“Wait, Skuld! You don't know where he is!”

“Oh, I do. I do...”, you whispered to yourself, but turned around nonetheless. “I guess I know where he is! Somewhere around Cumberland Forest, right?”

“Y-yes... but how?”

“I'll bring him back.” You mounted Wodan and didn't look back as you headed for camp again. You needed help. Cumberland Forest was filled with wild animals, sometimes even wolves. Also, there was a camp of the O'Driscolls and you had no desire to run into them. Though, _you_ would not do that since you knew exactly where they were. But they could assault you on your way. No, going alone was no option for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like girls take over my writing now and honestly I'm not sad about it at all. And while I was digging through chapter 2 of the story I thought that Miss Grimshaw needs, just like Molly, a chance to show what kind of woman she is. I mean, she's the one keeping the men clean and fed, so...


	28. Big sisters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared... this one is super long. It got out of control as I didn't watch. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not :D

So, who was not occupied right now, you wondered. Who would have time to come with you, except Arthur. Because you knew that if _he_ got to know what you were doing, there would be an open war and you did not want things to escalate like that. You could imagine better things than getting ripped in half mid-air.  
But then again, would you dare dragging somebody else into that mess? Ugh. Rather not.

While dismounting Wodan, you saw Susan waving you to her.  
_Oh, please, don't tell me she told Arthur. I'm done_ , you thought while walking over to her, opening your bun. Heat of the risen day mixed with humidity, breathing seemed harder than ever. Maybe it was also the fear. You couldn't tell it apart at that moment.

Rushing over to Susan, a knot formed in your guts, heavy and cold. Your hands felt icy, fingers prickled.  
“Susan, what is it?”

She put an arm around you to softly push you on. You followed her lead, finding yourself hiding at your sleeping place. But obviously there was no time for sitting down. First, Susan seemed kinda stressed, it was nothing you could actually see, it just felt like that, it was some sort of anxiousness radiating from her whole body. 

“What did that woman want from you?”, Susan almost hissed, sending a chill down your spine, adding weight to that heavy thing in your stomach. Something was wrong. How? You had been so cautious! 

“She wants me, or rather Arthur, to save her little brother”, you said. 

“Always had a heart for that boy.” She shook her head.

“Why are ya so nervous, Susan?”

“Well, we both forgot that Dutch still doesn't trust ya. When ya weren't here this morning, he was frantic. I told him I sent ya to town to get some soap. So whatever ya gon' do, bring soap from Valentine”, she explained, then huffed. “So, what are ya gonna do with that woman's brother?”

The heavy thing in your stomach vanished at that moment. It was only Dutch and his distrust – nothing worse. Nothing about Arthur. You silently thanked the sky for that. You shrugged your shoulders and gave Susan your best clueless smile. “Guess I'll safe that feller. We won't add to Arthur's hurt, will we?”

“When will you be back?”

“I'll got get your soap now, I think I'm gonna get him later.”

There was literally no chance you'd get Jamie to follow you just like that. He didn't know you at all, he didn't trust you and most important of all: He didn't admire you like he admired Arthur. So since you could not really make a plan about talking him into leaving this cult, you needed to come up with something different. You'd think about it. But the idea to take somebody with you to get Jamie out of there suddenly seemed... wrong. As wrong as it could be.  
No, you decided. You'd go alone. Wodan, you and your revolver. Maybe a lasso. Yes, a lasso sounded great.

Susan was satisfied with that; and even if not she couldn't change your mind on that; so she went back to her work.  
And you rode to Valentine, again, you remembered something: You had no money on you. How were you supposed to by stuff without cash?  
Sighing you took a turn to visit friends.

It was Archie who opened the door for you and as soon as he recognized your hair and face, he smiled brightly, revealing the one or other gap in his teeth. He asked you in and you went into the house.

There certainly had been a change in the furniture. Mrs. Downes had bought some new chairs and even a couch. You grinned at how fast they had spent some of the money. Well, it was better that way. Hiding it somewhere in the house was quite dangerous these days. 

“How can I help you?”

“I'm... uhm, it's really awkward to ask ya. But now I'm the one asking for a few dollars, since I need some cash now and all my money's in the bank in Blackwater. Which is, unfortunately, too far away now”, you slowly said, embarrassed from head to toe. How pathetic to ask this poor family for help!  
Well, considering the amount of money you had given to them, they weren't that poor anymore. Just being honest here. 

“C'mon, that's not awkward at all, Miss.” Archie went over to the kitchen and rummaged through the few drawers. After a minute he came back to you. “Here, take this.”

“Thank you”, you smiled shyly and took the money. Twenty dollars was more than enough. “I'll pay ya back.”

“Oh, please don't.”

Just as you were about to say your goodbye, you saw the shotgun which was leaning against the couch. Very casual, quite decorative. You imagined the catalogue for IKEA America to look like that.

“Hey, I got another question”, you slowly said, turning to face the young man. “You know how to deal with guns?”

“Sure, have to.” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes suddenly wandering to your revolver. “Why?”

“Say, can ya show me? I never needed any arms, but I'm on my way to get rid of some bad guys, so I think I'll need it.” That wasn't particularly true, but sooner or later you knew you'd have to use that thing and you wanted to come prepared in that situation.

“Of course, nothing I'd rather do. I still owe ya for savin'... savin' my parents.”

“Don't mention it. I'd never hesitate to help 'em again. Your parents are good people.”  
While following Archie through the house towards the back door, you frowned at yourself. That was very supportive of you. Very nice and kind. And it didn't feel like a lie. It felt like _If you need help and I'm around in ten years from now, don't hesitate to ask me for I'll always be there_. This was dangerous. You wanted to get home as soon as possible, back to your family. That was what you wanted.

Sometimes you considered yourself a clever, fast learner. Mostly when it came to anatomy, how to perform easy surgeries – but to be honest, which surgery was really easy? - or how to cut back your plants. You were quite deft with your fingers.  
It was no real surprise that you actually had a knack for gun cleaning and handling. Much to Archie's astonishment you were able to clean as well as lock and load the weapon on your own after you'd watched him doing so twice. It wasn't hard, not really. You were sure other guns were more difficult in their handling. 

The aiming and shooting was something completely different. These were the things you needed to practice a lot. But since you had stuff to do, you let Archie show you how to do so once. After thanking him for his effort, you said your goodbye and see-you-soon, then left the place. Soap was awaiting you in Valentine.

As you stepped out of the general store you looked into the sky, eyeing the dark clouds banking up. They coloured themselves with all shades of grey and icy blue. Soon a storm would break lose and this place would drown in mud. The sunlight didn't seem that strong by now, so you gave the weather about an hour to change to worse. 

Walking towards Wodan you suddenly had an idea how exactly to safe Jamie. But you would need protection for that kind of venture. A lot of that. And for different threats. Wolves were different than O'Driscolls obviously. 

“Well, hello Miss.” The shop owner bowed slightly as he caught sight of you, then smiled at you. “How may I help you?”

“Is it possible to buy gunpowder at your place?”, you asked him, taking a look around. A shop filled to the brim with all kinds of weapons. Guns, rifles, revolvers, shotguns, you name it. A heaven for all those who wanted to protect themselves or take other peoples money. By force. 

“Gunpowder, Miss?” He arched an eyebrow at you, then went to check something underneath his counter. After a few seconds you looked up again, facing you with another detached smile. “I have some remainders here.”

“I don't need much. Oh. And maybe some ammunition for this revolver.” You put your gun onto his counter, knowing well enough that it was worth a lot. Agent Milton did not give away cheap gifts. No, he was a friend of expensive weaponry.

The man tentatively took the revolver and inspected it from every angle. His fingers carefully felt the material, as if in silent admiration. “This is a remarkably marvellous Peacemaker. I assume you take great care of it. You must be fond of this one.”  
He smiled at the gun as if it was the prettiest thing on earth. Well, maybe it was to him, since it truly was pretty. Hand-decorated with scrollwork and an ivory handle it was rather extra.

“Thank you. I really … treasure this one”, you mumbled, paying for the gunpowder and the ammunition, quickly leaving the store. No need for this man to remember you too well or your weapon. Or what you had bought from him.

Outside rain and rolling storm greeted you, tucking on your clothes, pushing and pulling against you as you tried to get to Wodan. Cold raindrops hit your face and burned like ice, the air was heavy with dust from the ground and you had to keep your lips pressed tightly together in order to not get all the dirt into your mouth.  
Above you deep thunder rolled between the now almost blackish clouds, sheet lightnings flashed in between them; they caused you to shiver in anticipation. Nothing better than a big thunderstorm.  
Nothing better than a loud, rolling, screaming storm while you were out to kidnap some wild teenager.

Hopefully the weather would stay like that, although Wodan didn't seem to enjoy it all too much. But since this time you radiated a serene calmness, the stallion was easier to handle. You were sure it would work out all well if things worked the way you hoped they would. 

Arriving at camp, you felt every muscle ache, leading Wodan had still been a dread – especially since the storm had become more of a roaring example of how nature intends to strike back. As the first wave of deafening thunder had hit you, you had screamed back at top of your lungs, which had caused your mouth to fill with rain water. It was an extraordinarily downpour.

You held your arm above your head to at least be able to see something through the heavy rain which was brutally pattering around you. Blinking you went into camp, it seemed like it was filled with dark spectres instead of people. But the way they moved and cursed – they were busy saving their stuff from the rain. Some of them fastened all the things which could be dragged away by the wind. 

It was then when you saw Jack run after something off into the woods. Nobody seemed to notice, so you followed the boy, calling out his name. He wouldn't hear you anyway, but still. The storm was too loud. 

“Jack! For fucks sake! Stop!”, you yelled, finally catching up, grabbing the boy on his right arm. “Jack, stop! It's dangerous to run around like that. What are you runnin' after?” Rain ran down your face, your neck, your hair was completely wet and stuck on your skin. 

The boy stared at you, his brown eyes were desperate. “It's my toy!”

“What toy?” You did not remember him having any kind of toy. 

“My ball!”, he screamed against the storm and you weren't sure if it was only rain on his face or also tears. Jack wanted his ball back. “It rolled down here!” He pointed downwards, obviously. Somewhere in between these many trees and shrubs this ball better be. 

“I'll get your ball, okay? Can you go back to cam-”

“No!!”

Sighing you took his hand in yours. “Okay, but we'll search it together. No running off.”  
Having said that, you dragged the boy behind you, always careful his hand did not slip out of yours, which could happen easily. You didn't want to be responsible if the boy died on that trip. What a terrible thought. You gripped his hand tighter.

It took you ten minutes to find that damned ball and as you finally held it in your hand – it had been so close to fall off the cliff that you had almost kicked it down while searching – you let out a scream of triumph. Jack just stared at you, wide eyed. 

“What?”, you said, grinning. “Nobody will hear us above the storm. Ya can scream of joy and happiness that we found that thing, if ya want.”

“Will you scream again?” Jack still seemed a bit daunted.

“You want me to scream?”

“We scream together.” Nodding, he fastened his grip of your hand. “One. Two. Three.”  
You both bawled as loud as you could, you held the ball into the air like a trophy while lightnings flashed over you and the clouds got even darker. It was truly freeing and electrifying. 

After you were done yelling, you looked at Jack and handed him his ball. While doing so, the both of you giggled with sore throats. 

“That was great”, you said as you led the boy back to camp, meanwhile you were rain-soaked, your clothes caked with mud. You felt like a wandering swamp-monster.

“Mhm.” The boy pressed his ball against his chest with his left hand.

You got back to the tents and immediately searched for Abigail. That poor woman had to be worried senseless with her boy gone in this weather. Finding her was rather easy, you could hear her from afar. She was calling out for Jack, her voice high pitched with fear. 

“Yo, Abigail!”, you hollered over the place. “Got your boy!”

“Jack! _Jack_! My son!” Within a second it seemed Abigail was at your side, falling onto her knees and hugging Jack, smothering him with kisses. “Where was you? Silly boy! I've been so worried!”

“He lost his ball. We got it back”, you said, letting go of the boys hand.

“Oh, oh... thank you.” She smiled at you, then bit her lip. “Thank you for helping my boy.”

“It was a lot of fun”, you said and laughed halfway ashamed as Jack told his mother about the moment you had found that ball. Luckily Abigail did not pay too much attention to the story, she was just glad to have her son back.  
She slowly led him to their own place, holding him close to her. Quite understandable.

The rest of the day you were busy helping in camp and as the rain finally ceased you felt at least ten pounds heavier with water in our clothes. Everybody was drained and tired, they all hoped it wouldn't rain like that in the night. They needed sleep.  
Dutch had not talked to you, although you could almost smell his curiosity about what else you had done in Valentine. Getting soap alone surely wouldn't take that long, now would it?  
You had to admit, you were rather glad he didn't ask any questions. 

There was no dry wood to start a proper fire, everybody was wet and moody. You sighed. Like this, they would not sleep. And without them sleeping you could hardly sneak away. No, it wouldn't work like that. You didn't want to give Mary a reason to come here again, so you wanted to get Jamie to her as soon as possible. 

You sat at Tilly's side, your arms wrapped around yourself. The others were sitting around you, talking in hushed voices or just staring at the wet wood. It would take days for it to dry. To worsen it, the wind was still sickening cold. 

It was then when you felt Tilly softly nudge you. Her face seemed pale, but that could be due to the bad light caused by the grey sky. 

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows to show her you understood she wanted something from you. 

“Can you... uhm.. you're a real witch, right?”

You thought about the water floating around your body as you had walked out of the river. “I guess, yes. I am. Why?”

“Can you possibly bewitch the wood? Make it dry?”, she wondered, whispering. 

“Can I – what?” You looked at her, frowning. “I don't know. I never done anything like that.”

“Would ya try? 'cause it's really cold. We're freezing in this weather”, Tilly softly said, putting her right onto your left upper arm, careful not to touch our injury.

“Well, I could. But I can't have people watch me.”

“Oh.”

To be honest, you had no clue if things like these worked. You had not bewitched the water to still flow around you as you had screamed at Micah. No, this had not been intended, you had been angry and willing to murder that man.  
But one couldn't say that you were willing to murder a bunch of wet logs just because they were, well, wet. And you would definitely not try to scream at the wood if everybody watched you.

Another glance over to Tilly and you saw her disheartened expression.  
You sighed. _Fuck it. Fuck my life in general. Worst thing that happens is that I fail_ , you thought and stared at the logs, slowly slumping into yourself. You wanted to touch the logs, but you didn't dare.  
Instead you put your hands onto the tree-trunk on which you sat. Either it worked or not. 

Closing your eyes, you imagined the fire pit, the logs stacked in there. You almost saw each woodfiber in it. You imagined the smell of dry logs, cosy summer nights and the warmth of the fire. While you held onto the image and the scent and the warm feeling on your skin, you almost clawed your fingers into the tree-trunk.  


“ _Lignum siccum ad nunc. Lignum siccum ad hic._ ” Whispering that, repeating it for what seemed eternity, you thought about how wonderful a dry fire would be, how merry all the people would feel.  
And somehow you wanted to make sure it worked. Maybe anger was important? As fun factor, you thought about how crisp Micah would be if he burned in this fire you'd create now.  
A hot sensation took a grip of you, almost brushed away over you like a light simoom. You tried to keep that feeling close. It felt right. It felt strong. 

“Oh bless my soul! The wood's...! It's dry! Fast! We need some fire!”

Only as you heard that shout you let go of the tree-trunk, noticing just now how heavy you had to breathe, how stiff your fingers felt. Your heart beat hard against your chest. You opened your eyes, blinking.  
In front of you John and Sean were eagerly trying to set the now visibly dry logs onto fire, halfway managing. You did not give in the temptation to snip with your fingers, that would have been too much to ask from the universe. 

The men got a working fire, the logs creaked in the flames and all around you the gang members seemed rather relaxed, happy to have a warm, dry place.  
Still, you felt Hosea's, Arthur's and Charles' stare digging into you. You ignored them. 

“You did it!” Tilly grinned at you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I can't.. I mean! I knew it would work! Thanks!”  
And before you could say something in return, she had placed a small peck onto your cheek, then held her hands towards the camp fire.

You stared at the flames for a while. It seemed your head was empty, except for that one thing flashing through your thoughts. _I'm a witch. I can work real magic. I'm a witch. I made wet wood dry. I'm a real with._

Although it had been a surprise that the logs suddenly were dry, most of the people around you tried to ignore that fact. Maybe they were afraid, maybe they thought it had been not too wet to get it to burn – whatever it was, you were glad nobody congratulated you to that spell. 

After a while, almost everybody was sleeping, only Bill was awake, being on guard. Luckily it was Williamson, he was easy to sneak away from.  
Of course he was patrolling, but he did not have the intuition Charles had. He was closely listening to all sounds, but you almost gliding over the ground – that was easy to miss.  
Secretly you led Wodan out of the woods, then mounted him as you were out of eyeshot of Bill.  
You had thought this would be harder, but sometimes one had to be lucky, you guessed. 

The night was pitch black, there were no stars to be seen on the sky, not even the light of the moon could pierce through the thick clouds. You felt kind of lost, but you had to deal with that. The fact that you could not see much also meant that your enemies also were almost blind at night. 

Once again you were thankful for being a nerd and knowing all the useless stuff. But also you knew where the Chelonians hid. You checked your gear. Revolver, apples for Wodan, water, a lantern, gunpowder and a lasso which you had _borrowed_ from Javier. It was clear he'd notice something was missing and you were sure he'd ask you about it. Because, who else would be in need of a lasso? Everybody else had their own. 

While Wodan was carrying you towards Citadel Rock, you took out the gunpowder. It was more than enough that you got there. Staring straight forward, you dipped your index- and middle-finger into the now wet powder.  
You took a deep breath, then smeared the powder in a straight line from the bridge of your nose to your hairline onto your skin. Then you repeated it, only you created a horizontal line from one temple to the other. It smelled repulsing and felt itchy on your skin, but one had to make sacrifices for success.

“ _I call this into the night, I won't be harmed in any fight. No enemy will take me down, neither gun nor claw will take away my life._ ” You smeared some of the powder onto your mouth and down your chin. You tried your best to visualize some sort of powerful shield around you. Either it worked or it didn't. Hopefully you did not have to find out.

To not lose the rest of the gunpowder, you put it away. Somehow you were glad it was that dark. Just the thought of somebody seeing you like that – they would think they'd see a demon or something crazy like that.

It still took you around two and a half hours to get to the camp of the Chelonians. There had been no gangsters, no wolves or any other harmful thing on your way and you were grateful for that, grateful beyond comprehension.

Before you got too close to their camp, you dismounted Wodan and politely asked him to stay _exactly here, please, boy. Okay?_. You took the lasso from the saddle and sneaked into the biggest tent. Maybe they all slept in there? Who knew. There was nobody having guard, so they probably thought they'd be safe up here.  
And of course, they were right. Who would search that group at this place? Honestly. Who would deliberately live that high on a mountain where it was almost always cold? You wouldn't. 

In front of you, in the damp darkness of the tent, you could see silhouettes of around a dozen beds, all occupied. Underneath thin blankets the men were sleeping peacefully. Monotonous snoring filled the air.  
You pulled a face. Now you hadn't thought about the fact that it would be dark at night time and you could have trouble identifying Jamie Linton. Damn your brain. 

Very slowly and cautiously you went from bed to bed, crouched as close as possible to the faces of the men, always taking care nobody woke up from the soft sounds you caused. Your whole body felt electrified and jittery. What if somebody noticed you nonetheless? What would you say? No. This had to go smooth. 

It was the seventh bed that made you stop and stare for a longer time. Long, thin face, dark brows, brown hair. Slightly protruding ears. Looked like Jamie.  
You bit your lower lip, then moved closer to him. 

“Jamie”, you whispered into his ear, almost not audible. “Jamie.”

He snored and turned his head away. Maybe not Jamie? You frowned and threw a glance over the other beds. The rest of the men seemed to have fair hair, at least not brown hair. Rather blondish or light brown. No, the young man in front of you had to be Jamie. 

“Get..away”, the man suddenly mumbled and you ducked under his bed so he wouldn't see you.

Adrenaline shot through your body as you tried to take shallow breaths. Had he seen you? Was he awake? What if? If they found you here, in their tent, with your face full of powder – they'd probably burn you. Or ask you politely to leave. You hoped for latter. 

“Leave me, Mary”, he silently went on, almost groaning the words. 

He was dreaming. Relieved you sighed, then went onto your knees, somehow feeling sorry for him. He just wanted to be happy and free. And you? You'd force him to go back to his family. On the other hand, you knew what was about to happen to this cult eventually.  
Also you had promised Mary to bring her brother back. You'd do that.  
You could understand her worries and fears – you wanted nothing more but to see your sister again, and your mother – and you did this... not for her, you realised. You did this for you. Because you didn't know if you were to see your family ever again. 

You got closer to Jamie and pulled out your revolver. You had no experience whatsoever with knocking people out, but you were positive you weren't as strong as to kill him instantly. You sure hoped you weren't.  
Determined you hit the gun against the young man's temple. There was no cracking, no disgusting sound, nothing. Except that he seemed to lose all his breath at once.

After you had taken a quick glance around – you did not want to wake anybody at all – you felt the pulse of Jamie and luckily found it. Very well palpable, strong and even as it should be. You smirked. A master of knocking people out.  
Tying Jamie up didn't take as long as you had expected it would; a few knots, some improvising and it was done. Well, the fact he was unconscious helped a lot, you knew that much.  
Getting him out of the tent was on a whole different level. 

But who would you be if you had not watched a thousand crime movies. You managed to roll the man onto his blanket – having worked at an elderly home for a few weeks really did help here – and like that it was easy to pull him out of the tent. Of course he was heavy, a grown ass man, but pulling him like that was way easier than trying to carry him around.

As you stood in front of Wodan you pulled a face. How to get him onto the horse? You had not thought about that.  
Gritting your teeth you decided to gag him and try to wake him up, so he could like... wiggle onto the horse? You had no idea. You had no idea how to go on from here. How could this happen to you?  
So for a start you put a clean handkerchief into his mouth and sat him up against a small boulder. You softly slapped his face. 

“Wake up, Jamie-boy”, you said low-voiced. He didn't react. “Wake up, man.” Another slap.

He tried to groan but it didn't work, much to your satisfaction. At least that worked out. Blinking he tried to take in where he was and who was sitting in front of him, you could tell. Because, after seeing you, his eyes grew big and slightly panicky. He tried to say something. 

“No, you ain't gon' say a thing”, you told him. “I'm here on your sisters behalf. Come on, Jamie, get up. We'll get ya back.” You grabbed him and pulled him up.

Of course he tried to hobble away, but you simply held him by your side. After all, he was tied up like a visitor at a bondage-domina's place. Well, maybe not that good or tight, but well enough. 

“I'll take that out of your mouth if you help me get you on that horse”, you said, holding Wodan.  
And suddenly the stallion went down, it seemed like he wanted to sit to make it easier for Jamie to get on him. You stared at your horse and thought about how much that animal really understood and knew. Your manners forced you to thank Wodan.

Maybe Jamie had seen your revolver, maybe he was just as amazed as you were by the horse – at least he let you lay him onto the back of the horse. You still held the young man as Wodan got up again. Astonishing, truly. 

You took your time with the gag – only after riding for about twenty minutes you took it out of Jamie's mouth and threw it away. Really, you didn't want to have that thing in your pocket. Not since it was full of slobber. No, thanks. 

“Don't dare screaming”, you warned him right away. “I'm here in peace.”

“In _peace_? Does that look like peace? This is kidnapping!”

“I mean, you have a point.”

He wiggled around behind you so that you were forced to hold him tight. Hard enough while you had to navigate Wodan down the mountain. 

“If Mary sends you, I want to go back to my brothers!”, he demanded.

“Your brothers, sure. Listen, Jamie, I know you have a shitty father who ain't worth a single penny when it comes to parenting, but your sister loves you. She's afraid you'll hurt yourself there”, you explained. 

“And who are ya? I never seen you with Mary.”

“It's because I'm not really a friend, I'm more of an... acquaintance. I promised to help her and here we are. Don't be mad.”

“But I am! If you bring me back I have to see my father again! He hates me!”

“And you don't hate him I guess.” The all-time tragedy of unloved children who always wanted nothing more but some emotional warmth from their parents. It was terrible. “Let me say so much. You don't have to become a lawyer or teacher or something intelligent. Just search for a job that you like. No matter what your father says. He doesn't have to live your life.”

“He's... he's bullying me!”

“Then search for a town where you can go to university or whatever far away from your father. Don't answer his letters.”

“I'll never make it. I know it. He knows.” Now the young man sounded as down as can be, well aware of his own faults and flaws. 

“Bullshit.” You turned even more around to glare at Jamie. You had reached the plains, so you could trust Wodan to not run into a hole. “Your father doesn't know a damn thing 'bout you except you're his son. There's that. You know what I know? You can become whatever you wanna become. You can change each day. If you return to Mary, make this count.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes and he tried to look away, so you watched the way again. It wasn't far anymore.  
The rest of the way you didn't speak with him, as he did not talk to you. As you reached the train station of Valentine you saw Mary approaching it already. It was early morning. How time passed if one was occupied. 

You dismounted Wodan and cut open the bonds so Jamie could get off the horse without your help. Nodding towards the station, you let him go ahead. Although Mary had not told you to bring him here, you knew that she had told Arthur in game. 

“ _Jamie_!!”

“I'm sorry, Mary!”

 _I'm great_ , you thought. _The best. A beast_.  
There Mary spotted you, saw your face and backed away. 

“Is.. is that you?”, she dared to ask.

“Yeah, I dunno. Thought it might keep bandits outta my way”, you smirked. “I hope you're doing well.”

“Thank you so much. I cannot... I can't thank you enough for brining back my brother. Whenever you need.. something, anything. Let me know. Please. It's the least I can do”, she said, holding onto Jamie's hand. 

“It's been an honour to help your family”, you simply stated and waved them goodbye. Their train was approaching.


	29. Iridescent skies

You got back to camp just as the sun was crawling over the mountain tops, bound Wodan onto a tree close to the other horses and stumbled towards your sleeping place.  
On the ride back all the action from the last day and night finally took their toll on you. Your limbs felt heavy and cold, you had been close to passing out on the horse. Keeping your eyes open had been the hardest task of them all. 

So when you sunk down onto your still wet blanket between Javier and Charles, who were still asleep – at least it seemed like that to you, though one could have shown you a calf and said it was a big dog and you would have believed them at that moment – you fell asleep immediately.

_As you wake up, the sky above you is painted in blurs of dark violet and iridescent cyan. It seems like the firmament is made out of waves and you stare at them from the oceans deepest ground. There are uncountable stars, bright and pinkish; no moon spills its light upon the place. You stand up and you feel light, there is no hurt on your arm, not a single sore muscle. The night is warm, if this is a night._

_You take a look about the place, but you are alone. Although you know there should be people around you, you are not surprised that there is nobody. A serene, melancholic sound fills the air with a comforting vibration. Except that, there is no noise to hear._

_You want to ask why there is nobody, but who do you ask? Who is there to answer if there is nobody here? So you walk. You don't know where you are going but somehow you know. The ground feels soft but also slippery, like deep moist moss covered in mildly scented soap. You don't wear shoes and that does not surprise you as well. Everything seems so natural, although it cannot be._

_In front of you the ground ends and you stare into a deep, dark void. It's not black. You cannot tell which colour you see in there, it seems like you see all and none. You wiggle your toes in the heavy, warm air. Something is going to happen, you can feel it in your stomach. There is a pulling that comes from the inside._

_“Have you understood what you have to do?”, a voice behind you asks and you turn around._  
_In front of you, in the middle of this nowhere-place, stands a tall, glowing woman, wearing a cloak made of impressive, silky feathers. She looks like she is here but also... not. She is beautiful in a fear-evoking way, like a bursting star.  
You feel goosebumps on your body but it's not cold. _

_“What is this?”, you ask instead. With each word that leaves your lips you can see shiny, colourful bubbles coming out of your mouth – you don't feel them form, they are just there. They float away into the oceanlike sky. You watch them in awe and touch your lips. They are dry._

_“This is our realm”, the woman says and her skin seems to be of the colour of the sky in one moment, in the next she glows silvern again. Then she looks at you, her bright eyes pierce through you. “Do you know your reason?”  
You notice that she does not speak bubbles. _

_You don't know your reason. You can just guess. “I should save them from dying?”_

_“No.”_

_From afar you can hear distinct battle cries, they echo from all around you.  
You look around to see where they come from. As you look back, the woman is gone._

_Suddenly you stand in warm water, it reaches up to your knees. It is almost hot and each step you take to search for the woman feels forever to take. It feels like you have weights on your legs._  
_You bump against something soft and as you look down you see into the pale and dead face of Molly. Her body floats in the water. But this is no water. You touch it with your fingers and see it is blood._  
_You stare at Molly and can't take it. You look away._  
_But you cannot look away – all around you are floating the dead in the sea of blood. You see Kieran, John, Arthur and Susan. You see dozens and dozens of pale, forever sleeping faces._  
_You want to scream but there are only red bubbles emerging. They disappear in that terrifyingly unaffected sky._

You opened your eyes again and stared blankly into the sky. Into the bright blue sky, sprinkled with some fluffy clouds, lit by a burning hot sun. Above your head you saw some birds flying by and one by one you could hear different sounds. Sounds of _reality_. Rustling in the undergrowth, voices from the gang, somebody walking by, horses softly neighing. 

With a deep and still shaky sigh you felt your left upper arm and were so glad it hurt you almost cried. What a horrible dream! What a terrible, haunting place.  
Slowly you sat up and laid your head onto your knees, your teeth clenched. 

You didn't know for how long you sat like that, but your stomach had other plans for you than to sit like that forever. Hearing your belly rumble you decided to get some food. After all, you were hungry. Yeah, you noticed, you were hungry like a wolf. How had you been so unaware of that?

“Finally awake, huh?”

Turning to see who was talking you saw Hosea. He was sitting on the table all on his own, only accompanied by his mug of coffee. Not caring to smile, you got your own coffee and joined him, warming your fingers. 

“What time is it?”, you asked. Somehow you thought you should yawn but you were not tired, although you were. This hadn't been the rest you had sought after such a draining day and night. 

“It's way past midday.” He gave you a fond look, then took a sip. “Where've ya been if I may ask?”

“Um... here.”

“Last night.”

“What do you mean?” Suddenly you got the idea that maybe not all of the gang members slept until morning, sometimes one had to get up to simply pee. Or one couldn't sleep anymore due to a nightmare. Had Hosea been up last night and seen you were missing? 

“You weren't at your place. I mean, you were nowhere to be found”, he said, eyeing you carefully. "Also... you got stuff in your face."

Good gracious, the gunpowder! You had forgotten about it! Without caring about anything else, you ran to the washtub and scrubbed your face clean, sighing into the water. How could one forget about that? You had been to damn tired and afterwards too damn confused. As you returned to Hosea, you smiled apologetically. 

“Have you told Dutch?” You drank some of the coffee, thankful for its warmth and strong taste. But, ugh, you never were one to drink your coffee black and here you were, forced to do so. You'd never get used to that. 

“I told nobody. Nobody knows.” Hosea sighed, then put his lean and calloused hands onto yours. “Please tell the truth.”

“Oh, I can't.”

“Why?”

His hands were so warm and comforting and you longed for him to leave them with you for a while. Just to hold onto something reassuring. You sighed. 

“Can you promise me to not tell Arthur?”, you asked, whispering. You pictured colourful bubbles coming out of your mouth and tried to get rid of that image. “It's crucial.”

“Well, I-”

“I know he's like a son to you. Damn, he _is_ your son. It's like... in The Robbers, _It is not flesh and blood, but heart that makes us fathers and sons_. But promise me to not tell him. He's gonna be mad as fuck.”

“Mad as... what?” He frowned at you.

“Just a saying.”

The man seemed to consider your words for a few seconds, not taking his usually kind, but now searching eyes from you.

“You know a saying for everything, don't you?”, he finally asked, but now there was a soft smile gracing his face and his eyes seemed to sparkle. “Never seen a girl that well-spoken. Let me hear your story. I won't tell Arthur.”

So you told him about Susan, Mary and how you got Jamie away from the cult. Although, while speaking, you got the hazy feeling that knocking the boy out and dragging him away may had been not the smoothest move you'd pulled. Well, what's done is done, right?  
Hosea just listened, he did not interrupt you even once until you had finished. 

He took a sip of his coffee, only taking one hand away from yours. “That's quite a tale you got there. Why did you do it?”

“Why I did what?”

“Help Mary. Or, why did you not let Arthur handle that?”

“Can't you guess?”, you softly said, throwing a glance to where Arthur and Charles sat, silently talking to each other. 

“Well, my dear, if I didn't know better, I'd say you have a thing for our Arthur. But something tells me you ain't got the … you ain't interested in him that way.” He stopped for a second, then patted your hand. “I say it's because you know what would have been if he did it. Am I right?”

Biting your lower lip, you nodded. You locked eyes with Hosea. “Yes. It's not only fortune-telling, it's... for some of you lot I just know what will happen once things get started.”

“He would be heartbroken again, right?” This time, Hosea closed his eyes as in agony, then looked over to Arthur, worry painted over his worn-out face. It was only that split-second, but he looked so much older than he was. Then it was gone again. 

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess I have to thank you”, he finally said, slowly pulling his hands away from yours. “For saving him.”

He got up to leave you but hesitated. “You're right. He is my son. More than he knows.” He didn't look at you, but there was no need to. You could sense the pain in that statement. Even if you had not known anything about all this, you would have felt it now.

 _For saving him_ , you thought. You wondered how Hosea would speak if he knew in what way you had saved Arthur a while ago. How much pain and suffering you had warded off, so to say.  
While finishing your coffee, you decided that today would be a lazy day. Well, not lazy like doing nothing. No, you wanted to occupy your mind, but without too much action. Maybe Susan needed your help around camp?  
She sure would, after the downpour yesterday. So you cleaned the mug, put it away and went to search for the true boss of the gang.

It didn't take you long to find her, you could hear her nagging all over the place, ordering people around. She was standing at the girls' cart and shouted instructions at all the people unlucky enough to pass by her. Seeing that you had to giggle. That woman was so full of angry energy and drive you wondered if she even slept in between. 

You approached her and instead of scolding your for sleeping in, she just raised an eyebrow. There was no need to actually ask how things went. You just shrugged your shoulders and nodded. What else to say, really. 

“Well, where can I help?”, you wondered aloud. 

“Ya can wash them dirty clothes. These men, really. Don't care if they stink worse than Uncle's feet”, Susan ranted, pointing to a pile of dirty laundry. 

You pulled a face as you saw more than one pair of undies in the worst shape. Goodness, why had you asked? Why had you not suggested doing dishes or something like that.  
No way you would go through that horrid duty alone. Never.  
Just then you spotted Molly stepping out of the big tent, checking her face in her small pocket-mirror. Well, didn't everybody grouch about how she did not help in camp? Time to change that. 

“Hey, Molly!”

“G'morning”, the redhead smiled at you, putting away the small mirror. She was stunning, as usual. Just for a moment her face suddenly seemed pale, lifeless, dead. You shook your head and she was lively as usual.

“I got something to do for us. You wanna help?”, you offered, as if you had planned the best thing ever. Like, riding to town again or visiting a fancy saloon.

“Sure. What are we gonna do?”, she asked, already coming with you, completely unsuspecting.

“Doing the laundry”, you grinned and as she tried to get away, you took her hand and pulled her with you. “Ya know, Molly, what they say 'bout ya?”

“I know they don't like me”, she scoffed. 

“And why is that?”

“Well, it's 'cause I'm not like 'em”, Molly said, not really trying to pull her hand out of yours, but also not really following you anymore. 

“No, it's not because of that.” You stopped and turned around to face her. You sighed. “The girls think you don't do any work at camp. They don't wanna do this stuff neither. But somebody's gotta do it. So, if ya help me, they'll appreciate that.”

“Why woulda care about their opinion?”

“Because I say so. And you're my friend and I want to spend time with you and I gotta do the laundry and _I_ would love if you did that with me”, you smiled brightly at her. And somehow that did the trick.  
Molly rolled her eyes at you, sighed deeply but eventually returned the smile.

“Can't believe I do that.” Mumbling, Molly followed you until you reached the washing tub. It was already filled with water, though it was cold.

Doing laundry with Molly was great. Carelessly cramming all the mud-crusted clothes into the tub, poking with sticks in the brown, dirty water until the clothes were halfway clean, then fishing them out of it again, throwing them on the ground to the other laundry.  
You laughed about how Molly called that _shite-fishing_ and thought it fitted well enough.  
The small panic you went through as you emptied the tub into the woods – hearing disgusted screams from John who had been sitting somewhere in there to take a shit and was almost washed away with that gnat's piss– and the hysteric laughing fit you had afterwards. John passing by you, his head read, cussing and cursing under his breath, his trousers wet. 

“John, why not leave 'em trousers here? We're doing laundry anyway”, Molly called after him. 

“Ya, yer right. I'll do that.” With a mischievous expression he just got out of his jeans – throwing them at you, causing you to shriek and duck so you'd not get hit by it. He laughed dirtily and went on going back to camp.

“Nice backside, John”, you hollered.

He froze, looked back at you and tried to walk away faster, causing Molly and you to giggle even more. Well, he _had_ a nice backside, broad shoulders and thin waist and slim hips. Hella fine ass, too. 

Molly and you went on to heat water for the real cleaning now, adding soap to it from time to time. You had persuaded her to get a piece of her scented soap – these fellers would smell nice wearing clean clothes. That would be a completely new experience to them. As you told Molly, she was all game. Smelling nice while being in fresh clothes? Deal. 

And while you worked on, the woman told you about her life in Ireland, some customs, not much about her family. There was not much to tell, apparently. She raved about the old songs she used to sing with her granny, bless her soul, she had raised lil' Molly back in the day. 

“Hey, can you teach me the songs?”, you suddenly asked, staring at the woman at your side. “I mean, can you still sing them? I'd love to hear 'em.”

She blushed, a shy smile appeared on her face. “I.. guess I can teach yer one.”

“Yes, please!”

“It's called _Dinogad's Smock_ ”, she told you, seemed to think for a moment, then softly drummed a rhythm onto the tub. “ _Peis dinogat e vreith vreith. O grwyn balaot ban wreith. Chwit chwit chwidogeith. Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith..._ “

You listened in awe, her deep voice suddenly seemed filled with calm and long forgotten love. Hearing Molly like that made you think about how she had been as small girl, sitting by the fire with her grandmother, baking bread or preparing for the night and softly singing along. You imagined their home to smell like rosemary and heavy earth. You wondered if she wished herself back to those days sometimes. 

As she finished the song, she looked at you again and this time you _did_ see the wild, red-haired child running through high grass, only wearing a dirty cloth as dress – that child would grow into that woman in front of you. How endearing. You smiled fondly at her. 

“That was beautiful. Teach me, please.”

“Yer likin' it?”

“This song is like a warm embrace – I love it!”

“So peculiar”, Molly smiled; while she helped you with the water again, she started teaching you her most dear childhood-song, explaining the pronunciation and giving you a rhythm. 

As you threw the dirty clothes into the hot water, you tried to sing along to her, sometimes losing track, sometimes forgetting words again. More than once you thought you managed to actually knot your tongue singing these strange words, causing Molly to chuckle and help you out.

A little while later you were about to hang out the now clean laundry; you now felt you had a grasp of the song and murmured it to yourself. Molly was off to get some more clothespins. You had done a lot of work today, at least according to Susan who had brought more and more laundry over the afternoon. 

“Here ye go.” Molly returned, handing you the clothespins. 

“Thanks.”

“Tell me about some music ye know”, she asked while holding clothes for you. “From where yer from.”

“Hm... you want something sad or happy?”

She considered that for a second, her gaze wandering off to the tent she shared with Dutch, then back to you. “Something heartbroken.”

Oh, you would not do that song justice. You would not do justice to anything with that. But you had been achieving a lot of points at Singstar with that song, so you knew the lyrics. Maybe you'd skip a line or two. You bit your lower lip – again – took a small breath and looked at Molly.  
Then your eyes wandered over camp. Charles and Arthur were gone, hunting probably. Javier was at another table, talking to Tilly, sharpening his knife. How could he be so beautiful doing something that simple? You looked at the laundry again. 

“Are ye...” 

But you didn't let Molly end her sentence. With another breath you hushed her.

“ _Say something, I'm giving up on you - I'll be the one, if you want me to - Anywhere, I would've followed you - Say something, I'm giving up on you - And I am feeling so small - It was over my head - I know nothing at all..._ ” You sung into the laundry, with as much broken heart you could imagine.  
Looking at Molly you realised she had stopped working, she stared at you, her hand on her mouth. 

“Teach me, please”, she whispered. 

Nodding you got a glimpse of the sky. The clouds had taken on a dark shade of violet.  
Just then realization hit you. You had seen Freyja in that dream. How had you not recognized her from the beginning? And how could you still think that this had been an ordinary dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay maybe this is a musical??? by now?? I'll hold back with that in the next chapters, tho


	30. Arms

When Charles and Arthur returned you could smell blood on their hands. Almost literally. Both men were gloomy, especially Charles and you knew why. They had horns and the fur of a bison with them. Arthur went to give these things to Pearson, while Charles sought retreat at the sleeping place.  
He had been sitting there now for almost half an hour, legs crossed, working on his arrows.

You thought about going to sit with the others, but you felt the urge to check on Charles, see how he did and if he needed anything.

So you went to your place and stopped as you noticed Charles staring at you as soon as you got within eyeshot. He was in a particularly bad mood, although you were sure he would not treat you unkind for things other people had done. That would not be the Charles you thought you knew.

“Hey”, you greeted him. “Can I sit with you?”

Charles looked away. “Sure.”

So you sat down, crossed your legs and pulled your bag to you. In there still had to be the small diary and a pen. These things weren't hard to find and you closed the bag again.  
Since you didn't want to anger the man at your side or worsen his state of being, you settled for writing down what had happened so far. You tried to draw Agent Milton's face, it didn't work, so you drew a pimple with angry eyebrows.  
You also wrote down the lyrics of the song Molly had taught you, at least the way you remembered them. 

“Why ain't you with the others?”, Charles somewhen asked, though he did not look up. Neither did you. 

“You're troubled.” Squinting your eyes, you tried to find a word that rhymes with blood. It seemed like all your vocabulary had left you alone on that. 

“Do you know or can you tell?”

“Both.”

“Which was first?” Now he put his arrow aside and cleaned his hands with a rag. “Would you notice if you didn't know?”

“I don't know”, you said, throwing him an impish glance. Then you concentrated on your notebook again, writing on. Flood rhymes with blood – so easy to miss. “Knowing was first, but by now I can tell without knowing. One always comes with the other in my situation.”

“Where's that revolver from?”, the man changed the subject, nodding towards the precious gun at your hip. “Looks expensive.”

“It's a gift.”

“Who gives away such a thing?”, Charles wondered, furrowing his brows.

“Men with money, I guess.” You did not want to talk about the revolver, that was dangerous. Having Agent Milton in any way as possible topic or part of a topic was dangerous and you had no interest in that. 

“Never met a man with money who gave things away without reason.”

“Yeah, maybe that man with money had a reason.”

“What reason would that be?”

“Sex.” You stared Charles dead in the eye, your face expressionless; whilst his mouth opened a bit, then he shut it again. His eyes widened and he didn't know what to say, obviously. He was shook. “You should see your face, Charles”, you suddenly giggled. “That's a joke. Do I look like I'd have sex for a simple gun?” 

“You look like you'd shoot somebody for their gun. With their gun.”

“Goodness gracious, that's a nice compliment”, you laughed. This time, Charles shared a smile with you. “Oh, by the way, talkin' 'bout it. I'm a terrible shoot. I got this pretty thing, but I'll be damned if I can hit anything. I have no practice whatsoever with that. Would you help me?”

“Better ask Arthur, he's a better shoot.” His hand was on the arrow again. 

“I ask you. Can't stand you in that mood.”

“You can't change what has happened.”

“I know.”

“I can show ya how to use a bow to hunt instead”, he suddenly offered, seemingly just as surprised as you were by this. 

“You wanna...?”

“Just something small, we should start with turkeys or rabbits.”

“Okay, I'm game. When we gon' go?” You put away the notebook and the pen. 

“It's late now, we won't find anything. Tomorrow morning”, Charles decided and started working on his arrow again. Still he seemed to be coated in a dusty gloominess, but in relation to how he'd looked almost an hour ago it was better.

“Great. Just wake me up then”, you said, got up and went to get some food form Mr. Pearson.  
As put the second carrot into the pocket of your trouser you felt a bit ridiculous, but nobody seemed to notice, so you got some more salted meat. One could always use that. Some proteins and vitamins in combination. 

You looked around to see if somebody was watching you, but there wasn't, so you strolled over to Kieran, who was still on that tree. He seemed to be sleeping, but you were not quite sure if he only acted like that in order to have some peace. You knew Bill liked to torture that poor soul with terrible threats. 

“Yo, Kieran. Wake up.” Stepping beside him, you nudged his knee with your foot. He didn't react. “Wake up.”  
This reminded you so much of Jamie Linton that you shortly felt like hitting Kieran in his face. Maybe that would help? 

Just then the man opened his eyes, carefully looking up at you. Then he smiled. “It's you!”

“Sure. I got carrots and meat and we're gonna brush your teeth again”, you grinned, sat down and presented the food. “Which you wanna eat first?”

“Uh... the carrots”, Kieran said.

So you fed him the carrots while telling about your day doing laundry, about Valentine and about how you felt the bullying would be partly over soon. He could only nod and eat and chew and sigh happily.  
Chatting away, you then gave him the meat, after which you helped Kieran to some water. 

It was when you brushed his teeth when a shadow fell over you, a pale one since the sun was already gone by then, although it was still bright enough to see clearly. You did not pay too much attention to it; unfortunately Kieran's expression forced you to turn around.  
Again, it was Arthur. 

“Charles told me ya wanna learn how to shoot.”

“ _What_?” You stared at Arthur, pulling a face that told the man that you a) did not believe him, b) did think you misheard and c) were willing to use each and every muscle in your face to make these points clear. 

“If ya got a white cloth we can still practice today.” He scratched his neck, then nodded towards Kieran. “Ya better finish this or else he's gon' suffocate. Come by my place later.”

“Yes? I guess?”, you said, but Arthur had already turned his back to you to get back to whatever he was doing now. You looked back at Kieran and frowned. “Did you understand that? 'cause I think I didn't.”

“Hnghgggghnn...”

“Yeah, same. You got a point there, Kieran.”

Not ten minutes later Arthur and you rode over to Limpany, in this case you had the lead, showing the way. Although it did not take too long to get there, luckily. 

“So ya found this place all on your own?”, Arthur asked, as the both of you dismounted your horses.

“Yeah, on my way back while you lot were saving Sean. I mean, it's hard to overlook, really.” Together you strolled to one of the old, burnt down buildings. You had your revolver and a white cloth with you. You hoped Arthur had nerves of steel, because you could not guarantee that this would work out the way he thought it may. 

“Good place to practice.” 

“Be warned, I'm a terrible shoot.”

“Yes, Charles told me.” He took the cloth and threw it over a beam. Halfway satisfied, he came back to where you were standing. “Get a few steps back. Stand straight.” He took position behind you, so he could watch over your right shoulder.

“That good?”

“Will do. Ya won't be able to get into perfect position if we get into a conflict”, Arthur stated, then patted your shoulder. “So, take the gun in _both_ hands. Good. Now aim.”

You tried to aim, but you were not sure if you did it properly – you'd see if it worked or not. At least the white cloth was nice to spot in the dim light. Arthur was quite clever if he wanted to be.

“If ya ready, shoot.”

You shot him a disbelieving glance, then looked back at the cloth. “Ready? I'm afraid I'll shoot backwards, Arthur.”

“Ya won't. Don't forget, you're our lucky charm.” He grinned and put his right hand onto yours. “Here, I'll help with the first one.”

“If you lose an eye, it's not my fault”, you warned him playfully, although you were aware of your bad luck which sometimes turned up at the most inconvenient situations. 

“Why are ya so afraid? Thought ya ain't one of the fearsome.”

“Maybe it's because it's a gun. And it's for killing.”

“That's right. Still no need to be afraid.”

“Okay, let's just do this. I'll never hear the end of it if I don't shoot the cloth, right?” Having said that, you took a deep breath, held it – and pulled the trigger. Accompanied with a loud report you were immediately thrown back a few inches, luckily Arthur stood there, keeping you from falling backwards. You gasped as he held you by the arm. “ _Jeez!_ Better get used to that!”

“See, wasn't that bad”, you heard Arthur smile from behind you. Together you went towards the white cloth to see if you had even hit. The hole was to the left of the cloth, but not in a far off corner, so that was a win, you thought. 

“I would have hit somebody's arm at best”, you said, quite sad actually. While playing, you had been the headshot-queen, with or without dead-eye. At least when it came to video games, you had a knack for hitting heads. 

“Well, then this somebody wouldn't have his gun anymore. That's something. Let's do a few more and come back in a few days. What'cha say?”

“Sounds good.”

As the two of you returned to camp, the sky was already covered in dark clouds. To you, it seemed nobody was keen on staying up too long today.  
So after you had thanked Arthur - for the third time now - for teaching you how to shoot, you found yourself sitting in between Javier and Charles, both still awake, just like you. Javier gladly told you about his day and praised you for taking Molly to do some work around camp.  
Your conversation flowed on, easily, lightly, it was a true pleasure.  
After a while Charles had prepared all arrows – and out of nowhere he had a comb in his hand. Oblivious to your staring, he started treating his thick, long, black hair. 

“Wow...”, you whispered. “I wish I could comb it.”

“ _Estas loca_ , thinking he would let you do-”

“You want to comb my hair?” His dark eyes dug into yours while they were halfway covered with black strands of hair. 

“If I may?”

“Then, here.” With that, Charles put the comb into your hand, not moving. “But only if I am allowed to comb yours.”

“Oh of course! I'd love you to take care of my hair!” You were completely delighted, much to Javier's confusion.  
Happily you crawled behind Charles, sat up crossed your legs. Then you started combing his hair. It felt silky, thick. And healthy. You combed it like your mother had taught you to. Having a firm grip of the hair, holding all of it like a ponytail, then comb from bottom up. That way, there would be almost no pain from tugging for the one being combed.  
It somewhat felt home to do that. It felt cosy and warm and you loved to touch other peoples hair. 

“You're doing good”, Charles almost murmured while your fingers slowly ruffled through his hair. “Doesn't tug at all.”

“Ha, don't let 'em girls hear that. You'll only be combing hair for the rest of your days”, Javier chuckled and grabbed his guitar. “Mind if I play a bit?”

“No, please do”, you said, glad you could do something with your hands, happy you were not forced to sleep now. You were afraid you'd have another encounter like last night. That would be terrifying. 

So Javier played his guitar – to your surprise it wasn't anything joyful or fast. No, he was playing something different this evening, something soothing and sad and longing. He didn't sing. It was not necessary to create an almost eerie atmosphere of trust and losing.

As you were done with Charles hair – to be honest, you could have gone on to comb it for hours, it had felt so good in your fingers – you switched places and he started to de-tangle your wild hair. It was strange to have somebody do that for you. Usually you were very peculiar when it came to your hair, you did trust only yourself and your mother with that. And now you allowed an almost-stranger to comb them. 

At your side, Javier started humming to the song, mumbling words you could not understand. You stared into the sky, at the yellow moon in between thin clouds. 

“You told Arthur to show me how to shoot, right?”, you asked, voice hushed as to not disturb the others in camp who were already sleeping. 

“That's true”, Charles said.

“Guess I should thank you, it was very educational.”

“Good. Don't want you to go around, not knowing how to shoot.”

“Mhm.” You straightened your back, then smiled. “Javier plays like he's not aware of anybody or anything here no more.”

“Could be worse.”

“Charles!”, you upbraided him in a playful tune. “It's beautiful.”

“ _Puedo oírte_ ”, Javier softly sang, then suddenly looked at you. “That means I can hear you.”

Javier and you giggled at that, like children who had done something forbidden. You sensed Charles chuckle from behind.


	31. This is Legolas

As promised, Charles had been waking you before sunrise to take you hunting. Silently, to not wake the others, the two of you had washed your faces and brushed your teeth. It was a chilly morning, the forest around you was filled with fog. You decided to wear the dark shirt and the trousers you had gotten from Agent Milton since you didn't want to freeze while on the hunt. 

On your way to mount Wodan, you had to pass Taima, Charles' horse. She was a bit smaller than your stallion – which was no surprise, Wodan was damn huge. 

“Good morning, Taima”, you greeted the horse and wanted to go on, but the mare nudged you, her nostrils widening softly. “What's up, my girl?”, you wondered. Since you had no idea what the mare wanted, you patted her head, ruffling through her mane.

“She sweet on ya?”, you heard Charles say, his voice layered with slight astonishment. 

“Guess I'm sweet on her”, chuckling you kept on caressing her mane. “Pretty thing.”

“She is.” For a moment Charles just looked at Taima and you, his arms crossed. Then he cleared his throat. “We better leave now. I talked to Mr. Pearson, we need some meat.”

So you mounted Wodan and followed Charles. Soon you were far off the roads and if you were not mistaken, close to Strawberry. You had crossed Dakota River almost ten minutes ago and still you were riding on.  
You didn't mind that, though. While you let Wodan follow Taima, you took in the stunning surroundings, the still thick fog, the sound of the river in the background, birds chirping loudly, the pale morning sun slowly climbing up the sky. In between the sparse trees you could more sense than see shadows – of animal or man you could not tell. As wraithlike this time of day was, it was just as breathtaking. 

“Okay, let's try here.” Charles stopped Taima, dismounted and bound her onto a tree. He took his bow and arrows from the saddle. You followed him suit, gave Wodan an apple and then joined Charles. You were glad for his dark appearance, if you had to follow Sadie here, you would lose her immediately. 

After walking a few minutes, Charles advised you to lay low, so you crawled behind him through wet, soft grass. It was cold.

And suddenly in front of you, still halfway hidden in the fog, you could see some deer. They were completely unsuspecting, the light breeze went – for their luck – into the wrong direction, not carrying your scent towards them. You stiffened. Did you _want_ to kill a deer? Were you willing to not do that and instead live a life as a vegetarian? Presumably not. Yeah, no, you liked cooked meat way too much.

Charles handed you his bow. You stared intensely at him, but he just nodded towards the deer. So you had to tell him if he did not understand your eyes. “Charles, don't you want to go first? What if I miss?”

“Then we'll go on. This is for practice, nothing depends on it”, he tried to soothe you. It didn't really work. 

Your fingers felt the bow. It was not like you had never held one, when you were younger – in your teens, so very young somehow – you had taken a few lessons, but never excelled. Unfortunately so, you liked the thought of being able to handle this weapon with precision and deadly grace. And now you crouched here, with little to no experience and the will to be the very best at it without any training. Like, why were you that competitive? You wanted to impress Charles? Why? Nobody here would admire you as only second to Legolas from _Lord of the rings_. Nobody would praise you to be just as skilled as Robin Hood – though people might know him? You were not sure but probably that tale was already around.

Charles helped you rearrange your position so you could hold the bow and arrow and still crouch low, in order to not disturb your prey. You bit your lower lip and decided for one of the deer which was almost closest. It's head was easy to aim at.  
You held the bow slightly angled so your upper body was turned to the right a bit. Luckily you knew who to hold the arrow, which Charles did not comment, but his look told you everything. _He_ knew that somehow you knew how to handle this. 

Staying calm was another part. You wanted to make this one a headshot so badly, you were certain you'd fuck up.  
Slowly you pulled the bow-string until you could almost hear it vibrating with tension. You lifted the bow another inch or two. You aimed. What else were you to do? Waiting was no option. You held your breath. This animal should not suffer, you didn't want it to flee while injured. That would be terrible and was to be avoided at all costs.  
_Better make this one count_ , you thought – and let go of the bow-string. With a silent hiss the arrow shot away, fast and hopefully deadly. You still held your breath.

With a distinct thud it hit. The deer screeched luridly, the sound pierced your ears and brain like an icecold lighting, you saw it collapse so very slowly you though it was in slow-motion and your brain was tricking you. Still you heard it scream and breathe heavily. It suffered! The other deer had fled the scenery immediately, so there was no use in being silent anymore. 

You put the bow down, grabbed for Charles' knife – it was on his belt, but that did not stop you in that moment, you just took it away and he did not hinder you either – and jumped up. Running towards the deer, you felt terrible, it felt like you were covered in hot guilt.  
Throwing yourself onto your knees next to the deer you put your hands onto the warm body, it heaved with fear and hard breathing. 

“I'm sorry”, you whispered, noticing that the arrow had missed the head, it stuck in the animals neck. Knowing anatomy, you were sure you had hit an artery or vein, if you pulled the arrow out, you'd get splattered in blood.  
You took the knife and saw that your hand was shaking. You caressed the head and neck of the dying animal, which stared at you in agony and most of all deadly terror.  
Then you rammed the knife into its heart, turning it around – which was harder than expected and just as gut-wrenching.  
The deer made one last move, its hooves softly kicking, then its eyes broke. You gulped heavily. 

“Are you alright?”

You hadn't noticed Charles coming after you, but he was close and you felt his hand on yours, pulling the knife out of the animal.

“This... could have been better”, you sighed. 

“Don't knock yourself down. It was a fine shot. You hit”, he said and picked the dead animal up. Blood dripped down from the wound you had caused. 

“If you say so.”

“Now, where's your mood from yesterday?”, he teased, then he shook his head. “I know that feeling. But this ain't for nothing. We need food and this will help us all. Come, let's get back.”

“Okay.”

You trotted behind Charles, mounted Wodan. Only then you noticed that all the fog had vanished, leaving the ground to be shone upon by the sun. It would be a nice, warm day. You decided that you would take Jack on a walk, show him some herbs, maybe lay some letters with flowers. That sounded good. That sounded peaceful and soothing.

On the ride back you barely spoke. Until, that is, Charles slowed Taima down to ride next to you. He threw you a sympathetic glance, then sighed.

“Let's practice that again. Then you won't need to worry again like that”, he suggested.

“I don't know if I... if I want to practice on animals.”

“How about humans?”

“Charles!”

Just then you saw a glimpse of rotten humour in his eyes. He was teasing you! You allowed a thin grin. 

“Where did Arthur and you practice?”

“At an abandoned place, it's called Limpany.”

“Yes, I've seen that.” He thought for a few moments in which you eyed the carcass of the deer again. It had not been a bad shot, like Charles' had told you, but you had missed the head. The deer had not died right away. “How 'bout I'll come next time you go with Arthur? You'll learn faster that way. And won't spend so much time on it.”

You gave that suggestion a thought. “Sounds good.” You nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. And you can teach me how to fight.”

“I don't think...”

“Oh, yes, but I do. What if I get ambushed with nothing on me but my fists? You gotta teach me, Charles. Please.” 

He sighed, but it sounded fake. “Alright, but I won't go easy on ya.”

“Please don't. I like it rough.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

While you tied Wodan onto a bar, you felt yourself able to hum again. Meanwhile Charles brought the deer to Mr. Pearson, who seemed to be rather satisfied with the quality. At least somebody appreciated you as a killer-machine. The longer you had thought about it, the more you had accepted the fact that you needed training and that your first kill had not been all too bad and that you could improve. So that was your plan. Improve your aiming-skills. For what reason, though? Did you really want to accompany them at raids? Did you? To be honest, the answer was _yes_ , you wanted to experience that first hand.  
Probably you'd get shot, which would serve you well enough for even thinking you could keep up with these outlaws. You were by no means made to lead such a life. And yet you thought of yourself already half a cowboy. 

Approaching Abigail and Jack you were glad that these two, too, had taken a liking on you. The more, the better. 

“Good morning Abigail, Jack.” You waved at them, they returned the greeting. Coming closer to them, you turned to face Abigail. “I thought about taking Jack for a walk, show him some herbs and whatnot. Teach him some useful stuff. What do you think 'bout that?”

“Sure, take the boy with you”, she smiled. “I'm glad you spend time with him. He... he should have boys his age around him. But all he gets is uneducated outlaws. That's no company for a child.”

“Yeah, you're right.” 

Just then Jack let go of his ball and turned to the two of you. “Skuld, can we do something fun today?”

“Sure”, you smiled at him and wondered if he thought of learning as fun. Probably. 

“Momma can I come with Skuld?”

“Of course. Off you go”, Abigail chuckled and shooed the two of you away. “I want him back by evening!”

“Okay!”, you called back, then took Jack's hand and left camp with him. You wouldn't go far and you would not do anything risky. Well, you had thought the same thing before you had witched yourself into another dimension, so there's that.

Jack was a lively child, very aware of nature around him and in a refreshing way careless. And since life wasn't all about being earnest and poised and clever, you decided to play tag for a while, until you were out of your breath. Which didn't take as long as you thought it would. You really needed to do more cardio. 

After you dropped onto the ground, Jack came running to you, a stick in his hands. 

“I got ya filthy maggot!”, he shouted, then threw the stick at you. “Die! You owe us money!”

“Ugh, I guess I'm dead! I cannot tell you where my money is!”

“Oh no!” Jack threw himself at your side. “I must die!”

“Why?”

“Without money we must die!”, Jack imitated Dutch, then rolled in the high grass as if in severe pain.

Slowly you sat up. “Who told ya that?”

Jack didn't stop his rolling. “Nobody.”

“How comes you think that, then?”

Now the boy jumped up and stalked around, like a military officer. “Guess!” He held his head high and took big steps around, imitating a grown up man. His expression was priceless, somewhere between funny and tragic. A breeze tugged on his shirt. 

“Is this Dutch?”, you asked.

“Yes!”

“Come 'ere boy, I have a plan!”, you imitated Dutch with your deepest voice, causing Jack to shriek with played shock. He let himself fall onto the ground and laughed, while you swaggered on like you knew Dutch would. “Have some faith – in education!” Now you joined in the laughing of Jack.

After you could breathe normally again, you waved Jack to you. Together you then identified herbs and what they were good for and which parts to use. While doing that, you taught him the abc-song, searching for herb-names with fitting letters at the beginning. Or names, like Abigail for A or Javier for J. 

You told him about the sky and the different planets and that the sun was a big burning star, so hot one would melt immediately in its vicinity. That may disturbed Jack a bit, but he was too fascinated by your knowledge to really care for how terrifying something sounded. He soaked up all your wisdom and words like he was a dry foam and your lectures were the purest water.

As it was time to return to camp, Jack was tired and you gave him a piggy-back ride. He still was light enough for you to not get lumbago from that. The boy asked you to sing a song for him, so you sang the only song for children you knew. Which was the intro of your favourite series as a child, _Disney’s Adventures of the Gummi Bears_. You promised yourself that, once back in your time, you'd re-watch that again. 

“I got mail for ya”, you giggled as Abigail approached you. “A heavy package.” You turned around, Jack was already taking nap.

“I hope he didn't strain ya too much”, the younger woman almost laughed and took him off you. “He can be very demanding.”

“Oh, he ain't. He's wonderful. You'll see, give us a few weeks and he'll be demanding _and_ able to write a wishlist.”

“Thank you for showing him”, Abigail smiled, cradling her son. “Oh, Dutch was searching for ya. Better go to him, now that you're back.”

“Thanks.” You left the two behind at their place to make your way to Dutch. Why did you feel like a criminal? You hadn't done anything wrong. At least ... the leader of this gang did not know what you had been doing. He could not know. And in Valentine? You had been getting soap, that's all. For fresh, nicely scented clothes. So.. shopping for the greater good.


	32. Loyalty and Honesty

Clearing your throat you went up to Dutch, scraping together all the courage that was left within you. Which didn't feel like much, but it was better than nothing. Although, you had to admit your legs felt wobbly. 

You stepped into his tent, you saw him sitting on his bed, his grammophone not half as loud as usually. The light in here was dim, though it was a bright day outisde. It seemed today Dutch wanted light to be gone. Seemed like he preferred darkness. 

“You wanted to talk to me?”, you started the conversation. 

“Ah, there she is. Come in, Miss. Have a word with me.” With an exaggerated gesture he welcomed you into his tent, Molly was nowhere to be seen, probably kicked out for Dutch wanted to talk to you in peaceful togetherness. 

So you stepped deeper into the spacious tent, careful not to touch anything, you kept your eyes on Dutch. Would this end in an Mexican Stand Off? Would it? Because you'd lose and you did not like the thought of dying too early.

“What kind of word?”, you wanted to know.

Dutch put on a serious look, then he took a drag on his cigar. “You know, I've heard word you're not honest with me. And I don't like dishonest people.”

“Not honest in what way?” Had somebody seen you in Blackwater? It was impossible, none of them could safely return there. So what did he mean? Except all the other dishonest stuff you did – but that mostly concerned Arthur and not Dutch.

“I heard you were taking Molly to Valentine a few days ago. Without my consent.”

“Wait, I need _your_ consent to take Molly to town? Ain't she old enough to decide what she wants to do and with whom?”

“She is, indeed, old enough to do so. But still you live in my camp.”

So this would be another power play. Why was Dutch not able to just accept that you were not in any way forced to be loyal, he did not safe you, you did not safe him, but you were useful and you had a place to sleep. You were staying with them for shelter and food, in exchange you were a lucky-charm. This was a partnership of convenience, not built on loyalty.

“I do. But I don't see how I'm not allowed to ask people to accompany me to town.” Your tongue was your weapon, at least it felt like that. Your tongue and your mind. 

“What were you doing in town?”

“We were buying underwear for me, some things for Molly... and then I stumbled upon the men in the saloon, having a fight with locals. That's what I was doing in town. And after I was done, I took Molly with me back here.” Still you wondered how he'd found out about you taking her to Valentine. Had the both of you not tried to sneak away? Had it not worked out in the end? And why would Dutch ask you now, days after?

“I see. Which money did you use to buy these _things_?” Judging by the tone of his voice it was obvious he was not fond of Molly spending his money without telling him. Oh, how you had to restrain yourself to not tell him about your riches which once were his. 

“Molly had money on her, I didn't care where she got it from.”

“It was my money.”

Well, what to say to that? _Too bad, you wanna wear my undies?_ Or something along the lines of _Well I got ya a bar of gold, so I guess we're quit_. He'd never let that count. But it was worth a try.

“I gave you the gold bar that I found.” You gave him your best better-leave-that-topic-now-glance.

“That is right.” Dutch leaned back, eyeing you. “Heard you were practising shooting with Arthur yesterday.”

What did this man not hear? Why was everybody his spy? Could you not trust anybody? Why even tell Dutch that you were learning to shoot? Honestly, this would only lead to trouble. He'd not appreciate your progress as much as you got out of this conversation. 

“Yeah, did.”

“That's good.” Nodding, he took another drag on his cigar. The rings on his hand glistened in the small light of the lonely lantern in the tent. “I heard John and Arthur are gonna rob a train in a few days.”

“They do?” Just act natural. Maybe he just wanted your opinion after all.

“How about you join them? I think this is a great opportunity to show me your loyalty. And that's what it's about, right? Loyalty and honesty.” Dutch got up and stretched himself. “I will tell John about that. You can leave.”

You left the tent, went past Uncle and Karen playing cards, went past Javier sharpening his knife, went past Kieran who followed you with his eyes. Once out of camp you ran into the woods. In between the trees you felt unseen and safe. You ran as far as you could, until you had to gasp for air. You did not care for your arm to hurt, you did not care for branches to leave small cuts in your face. You cared for nothing.

“ _Loyalty and honesty!_ ” Screaming into the falling night, you had to take another deep breath. “ _Are you shitting me?! LOYALTY and HONESTY?! Fuck you, Dutch!_” Taking deep breaths you coughed, your throat felt scratchy. 

It was plain to see what Dutch wanted to happen. He knew you would not be able to defend yourself properly due to lack of practice. He knew you'd try to do your best since you always wanted to excel at things. Maybe he wanted you to die while robbing that train. Yeah, maybe he wanted that. Would you do him this favour? No. While staring into the darkening woods, you realized you should not only help these men get the life they deserve – you also had to change Dutch in order to achieve that. 

If you wanted or not, you had to work with Dutch, to lessen Micah's influence on the man. To make him more grounded. To help Hosea regain his voice in planning raids and the next steps. If that wasn't a hard to swallow pill, what was? Well, maybe if you had to let Micah live. Though, you'd not do that. This would be a price too high to pay for anything.

With as much composure as possible you returned to camp, mechanically ate some of the stew Mr. Pearson had prepared and waited for the things which would come, guaranteed. Nothing Dutch announced would go uncommented.

Bill joined you to talk about something quite boring, you did not listen to what he said. Probably some racist bullshit, so you were kinda glad you did not take care of his words. Or else you would be in the next fight, this time with Williamson. 

“Hey, kiddo. Hey, what's wrong?” He put one of his heavy hands onto your right arm, coming closer. He reeked of alcohol. 

“It's nothing.”

“Oh, ya gals always say that and then.. then there's a huge problem.”

“You seem to know us girls really well, then.”

“Don't be like that. Ya can tell me, I ain't one to judge.” Another inch closer.

“Bill, I don't want to talk about it. It's dark-”

“Who had this ridiculous idea?!” Arthur stomped towards the table where Bill and you sat. His face was painted with anger, he was still holding a cigarette in his hand. “Can ya explain this to me, Skuld?”

“So that's the problem”, Bill concluded, not knowing a thing. “Arthur, leave 'er alone. Don't ya see she's in no mood to get scolded by you moron?”

How to end this? It felt like a farce and it would get worse by the minute if you didn't step in. So you got up and patted Bill's shoulder. “Thank you, but it ain't Arthur who caused my bad mood.” You looked at the man in front of you. “Who do you think came up with that idea?”

“Well, I know you ain't one to kill for money”, Arthur said, still upset. 

“That's damn right. And I... I think we should not discuss this in front of everyone. In fact, there is no need to discuss it. It's the way it is.” 

“Oh, I think there's a lotta talk about.” Arthur went after you, leaving a confused Bill behind.

He would not stop following you, so at some point you just stopped, again standing in the forest. Somehow the trees pulled you towards them. There you felt safe, unbreakable like a shadow. 

“Arthur, don't do this to you”, you said, after sighing deeply. You shook your head. “It can't be changed. He wants me to join you on that and I will.”

“You forgot everything ya said yesterday?”, he growled and grabbed your hand. “Ya didn't want to shoot 'cause guns are for killin'. That's what ya said. And now you gonna come rob a train with us? If we're unlucky, there'll be a lot of that.”

“I know!” You looked away. “I have to. Somehow Dutch doesn't trust me and I really can't blame him. He wants me to prove my loyalty and honesty. So...” Biting your lower lip you looked down. “So I guess I gotta see if I'm fit to be an outlaw.”

“This is suicidal.”

“It's not my idea. I didn't want to be part of that. I wanted to teach Jack maths and reading and biology. Dutch wants me to... whatever.” You wanted to get Arthur's hand off yours, but he wouldn't let you go. “Can you please let go of my hand.”

“I won't let go of you.” There was no anger in his voice anymore. There was a softness, a comforting tenderness which you had seldom heard. Arthur took a step to get closer to you, his right hand caressed your jawline. “You'd be a fool to believe that.”

 _Kill me now, whoever watches, kill me, please_ , you thought while staring into his blue eyes, staring until you could almost hear him say that he would kiss you of all women in camp. He would not do that now, would he?  
Your heart clenched itself into a tiny, hard orb, beating rapidly. You did not want Arthur to like you like that. It would end in heartbreak. And you had done so much to keep his safe from further hurt. 

Turning your face away, you blinked. “Let go of me, Arthur. Please. You don't know what you're doi-”

His lips softly touched your skin, just for a moment, but you felt like you'd been set on fire. They felt rough and a bit dry, but also so gentle. His stubble tickled you and you closed your eyes, breathed in his scent. He had washed today, still he smelled like fresh sweat, like horses and work, like arguing about stupid things and a lot like writing and drawing with his pencil. You smelled his fear that he'd lose the ones he loves, you even smelled his anger at Dutch to decide you had to risk your life in order to prove something stupid. 

He stepped away, again caressing your cheek. “You're … to valuable to be thrown away like that.”

“Don't think like that, please. Like you think you're a bad man, I'm not a good person”, you slowly said, finding your hand on his face, feeling his stubble. “Trust me, you'll hate me.”

“Now, I can't think I'll ever do that”, he chuckled. 

You thought about the money in Blackwater, about Mary and Jamie Linton. You thought about Mr. Downes. You saw Arthur chase his dreams and never able to catch up to them, because there was a shadow lingering, not letting him through. You saw Arthur's heart break over the last letter Mary would send him and you saw him suffering more and more as time passes.  
Maybe you had betrayed the whole gang with your little private coup. But you would not allow Dutch to kill them off, one way or another.  
Should they hate you in the end – somebody had to be the one to blame. 

“Oh, I can imagine”, you mumbled. “Let's get back to camp. Or else there'll be rumours.”  
And, oh, were you lucky he had only kissed you on your forehead. Everything else would have doomed him to a life of suffering – Hosea was right, you were not interested like that.


	33. Fight Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody talks about Fight Club - and what else can you ask from Charles than to follow that rule? For your sake, since every step ahead you take seems to lead to tasks from Dutch to destroy you.

Before you went to sleep, you sat with Sadie for a bit, shared a cigarette and talked about the others in camp. At some point she got some booze and asked you about how it came that you shared a place with Javier and Charles and you told her you had forgotten. So much had happened you did not quite remember how that had come.

“I mean, watching you, I'd never put you between two men. That's risky”, Sadie stated and took a sip.

“Oh, they're okay. Keep me warm with their farts.”

“What?!”

“At least that's what I think”, you said, then giggled. “Sorry. I know, I should sleep at the girls' cart.”

“Why not sleep at Arthur's place? You're getting along quite well.”

“He's like a brother to me. That would be disturbingly inappropriate.”

“Jake... in some ways Arthur reminds me of him. He worried about others and he would never.. never... oh, I miss him.” She buried her face in her hands, softly sobbing. 

Following an intuition you shifted closer to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. You didn't say a word. Nothing could soothe that pain, nothing could help that hole that had been ripped into her heart. Sadie embraced your waist and buried her head on your stomach, crying into you. That... was quite similar to what Molly had done, you thought. 

“They had no right to kill him”, Sadie's voice broke, a bit muffled by your clothes. 

“No, they had not”, you softly agreed, caressing her hair. To her, revenge was the only way. You could not and you would never dream to change that. Sadie deserved to have as much revenge was she wished for they had stripped her of her luck. If she wanted, you would help her with all the force you had.

“They took my Jakey away...”

Later that night you turned from side to side, though you had not so much space to turn around. Javier and Charles were already sleeping peacefully, their deep, even breaths usually would cause you to feel tired yourself, but not tonight. You hated to see Sadie suffer and you hated Dutch for sending you on that suicide-mission. You hated him for trying to control Molly, but not caring for her anymore.  
You wanted to hate Arthur for his compassion, for his tender feelings towards you, but you couldn't bring yourself to it. After all, you had done quite some things in order to keep him safe and sound. 

You took another turn, this time facing Javier. Who stared right back at you, face all concerned. Before you could roll around again, he put his hand onto yours. 

“ _Dime que está mal_ ”, he softly said. 

“Whatever that means”, you mumbled, well aware that he wanted to know what troubled you. Even if you had no Spanish-classes, you would have known. Everybody could make sense of _mal_ and _que está_. 

“You know what it means”, Javier said. 

“I'm sad for you lot, that's all.”

“Sad?” He raised an eyebrow. “Come here, can't stand you rolling around all the time.”

So you did as told, you rolled over to Javier with a silent chuckle and found yourself in his arms, facing his collarbone. He was warm and smelled nice. You felt his beard scratch on your hair. You snuggled onto him. 

“Why are you sad?”, Javier wanted to know, putting his arms around you. 

“ _Perderás tus sueños_ ”, you mumbled after a while. Remembering your Spanish seemed to be harder than anything else right now. And you did not know if you did your sorrow justice with stating that they'd lose their dreams.  
Because it meant they would not only lose this gang, they would pay with their freedom or life for what they were about to do – especially if they kept on following Dutch. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I just got a bad feeling about all this. If you go on living like this, this ain't gonna end well, I'm afraid.”

“Don't worry, Dutch'll lead us on. He knows what to do”, Javier breathed, caressing your back. “Besides, _yo te protegere_.”

 _That's what I fear, that Dutch will lead you into misery_. But you could not say it. So instead you sighed deeply and buried yourself into Javier's closeness and tried to forget what was ahead of you.  
And you had thought you wouldn't be a punching ball of destiny anymore. Seemed like that had just been wishful thinking after all.

“Good night, _pequeña_.”

All around you there was chirping and rustling, a soft drizzle seemed to add to the somehow strained atmosphere. A few feet in front of you stood Charles, you had braided his hair for this occasion and he'd done the same for you. You let your neck creak while moving your head from one side to the other. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, Charles wanted to know. 

“Yes.” You raised your fists, licked your lips, then grinned. “Show me how it's done.”

“If I attack, you defend yourself. Don't try to hit me. Concentrate on keeping me off ya”, Charles explained. “You want me to go easy?”

“Never. Nobody's gonna go easy on me in a real fight.” You thought about the stitches. They needed to removed soon. 

So Charles did not go easy on you. His fists seemed huge, he let those punches rain down onto you and you suspected him to still go slow, for you could almost ward off each and every blow from him.  
Though, he hit you twice – and that hurt. So much that you staggered backwards, holding onto a tree. He never aimed for your face, luckily. You huffed, then forced yourself to get back to the scene. 

“Stay focused”, Charles advised. “Ya can tell where I aim. Look at how I move.”

“That's easier said than done”, you snorted, still happy he trained you.

“Don't worry. You'll get used to it. Keep it up.” 

You threw him a daring glance and the next moment he was all over you again, taking your breath with his fists and hard hits.  
It was pain you embraced, it was pain that led to strength.

After what seemed like an eternity of getting beaten up, Charles and you sat side by side, sharing a flask of water and some apples. Both of you were out of breath and glad for the break. Charles had taken off his shirt, he was sweating in the humid air – after the rain had stopped, it had become almost unbearable. How you wished you could do the same, just rip off your clothes without provoking a wrong impression of you. 

“You need to become stronger”, Charles stated after a few minutes in silence. “Or faster.”

“First of all I need to get rid of all these bruises you got me there”, you laughed. “But, yeah, I need to do more training. Maybe if you let me do the hard work in camp?”

“That'd work for a start.”

You glanced over to Charles and admired his body. He was strong and muscular. Damn, that biceps was admirable. Sweat was dripping down his arms, his broad chest heaved with each breath he took. As your gaze wandered up, you noticed he also looked at you.

“You're staring”, he stated.

“Yes.” Because, what else to say, really. “Take it as an compliment.”

“I will.” Chuckling, he went on eating a piece of dry bread.

“Hey, Charles. Can you do me a favour?”

“Which one?”

“Don't tell Dutch about this, okay? He doesn't like I learn how to shoot and he'll hate that I learn how to defend myself”, you said, locking eyes with him. “I don't wanna die for learning how to survive.”

“Okay.” He just ate on. 

“You're not surprised?”

“No. I knew this would happen. It's like...”, he paused, scratched his chin. “He knows you know if his plans will work out or not. So he has to take your word. And if he thinks it's a great plan and ya tell him it ain't, what's he gonna do? Do it anyway? Enough of the gang believe in ya. Especially after you dryin' that wood.”

“You know that?” You stared at the man.

“Everybody knows it. Tilly talked 'bout nothing else the following day”, he smiled at you, his face turning sad again. “Don't know if telling you're a fortune-teller was the right thing, though. Seems like it's more trouble than doin' good for ya.”

“It's okay, Charles. You did not know what would happen.” Smiling you got up again. “So, wanna go for another round?”

“I ain't tired yet.” He let his knuckles crack.

“Me neither.”

Coming back to camp late afternoon, Mary-Beth greeted you with a knowing glance which she gave Charles and you, smiling as if she knew a dirty secret. 

“Are a lovebirds done? I need Skuld for a second”, she grinned while already pulling you away.

“We ain't lovebirds!”, you scolded her playfully.

“Well, all of ya keep the impression up.”

“All of... all of us?”

“Yes”, she grinned. “You, Javier, Charles, even Arthur. What is it with you and the men? I mean... if any of us girls tried to-”

“Oh, go and ask one of them out. I ain't interested. I just like spending time with them, nothing more”, you said. Then you noticed something. “Where the hell is Kieran?” 

“They took him with them”, Mary-Beth silently explained. “Wanted to torture him, but he... he told 'em he'd show them a hideout of Colm O'Driscoll. They're away for almost two hours now.”

“That poor boy”, you said, then turned to the young woman at your side. “Mary-Beth! Are you okay? You're so pale.”

“N-no, it's fine. Come one, I got something for you.” She led you to the girl's cart, where Karen and Tilly were waiting for the two of you. “Well, we got something for you.”

“What do you got?”, you asked, rather wary of their expressions. 

“Well, it was Karen's idea”, Mary-Beth said while you sat down between Tilly and Karen. The brunette joined you. “Tell her.”

“We're rich”, Karen stated. “Practically, I guess you know. We got a lot of money in Blackwater. Dutch has buried it somewhere there. It's all we ever heisted and it's a lot. We can't got there. We can't send Sadie 'cause she's... well, a widow. You're the only one of us who ain't got no wanted poster there.”

“You could get our money back!”, Mary-Beth said enthusiastically, taking your hands in hers. “We could be rich! We'll tell Dutch you'll go get it for us and he can tell you where it is. We would not need to hide away anymore and could live a decent life.”

“It's foolproof”, Tilly chimed in. “Nobody there knows you. You get that money and leave. Nobody will suspect a thing, it's totally safe.”

You stared at the girls and gulped. What's done is done, right? “Sounds... great.”

“It does!” Mary-Beth clapped her delicate hands. “Dutch will love this idea!”

“I don't know... he ain't very fond of me. You better not ask him or else he'll think you told me more than I should know”, you hastily said. What if he really sent you to fetch his money. What if he noticed some was missing? Oh no, you'd not take that risk. 

“We'll just see what he says”, Tilly said. “Come on, Karen, ask Dutch.”

You felt like dying, something in you just froze and you wanted to vomit right there and then. Oblivious to you, Karen got up to ask Dutch if he was willing to trust you with all his riches down in Blackwater.


	34. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so hyped for all your comments from all the earlier chapters! This really makes my day EVERY day and I love you all. Just wanted to drop that here, so you know how happy I am.!

Oh, how Dutch raged in his tent, in front of his tent and around his tent. His face was red with anger, his hair seemed to be electrified. Karen stumbled out of his vicinity, into the protecting embrace of her friends who tried to soothe her.  
He raged until his voice broke and he had no words left. He was filled with flaming anger and at the end of his tantrum he turned on his gramophone at maximum volume.  
You just sat there, watched what unfolded in front of you, a slight sting of guilt pierced your mind. You had suspected it would be like this.

“Mind you, that didn't turn out like it should”, Tilly whispered in shock, staring at the tent – Dutch had closed the curtains to be alone in his smouldering anger. She patted Karen's back. 

“I've... he's never... that was … why did he overact like that?”, Karen stammered.

“I'm sorry he treated you like that, Karen. It's better we don't mention that again, okay?”, you said and your thoughts turned back to when you had to promise Molly to not get the money from Blackwater, even if Dutch asked you to. Maybe he was just angry because the girls had entertained the same idea and asked him before he could have asked you? Did that make sense? Probably. 

“Yes, we better don't...”, Mary-Beth nodded, handing the blonde a bottle of whiskey to drown her shock. “Usually he thanks us for our ideas.”

“There's always a first”, Tilly said, then shot you a nervous glance. “Maybe we should apologize?”

Just then you heard the clopping of at least two horses coming closer, you could hear Bill curse loudly. They were back! You jumped up to get to the men, but turned to give Tilly a reassuring look. “Don't apologize for meaning well. Ever.”

You wanted to go over to the approaching men, but something stopped you from doing so. Maybe the fact that Dutch opened his tent again and stepped into the sun and for a moment it occurred to you that he may thought he was the king of this posse; a bit over the top, but not bad. Not bad in a way that you could not change it. You just needed to get to him. Which would be hard enough after all that had happened. 

Kieran was with John and Bill, and though the latter ones seemed annoyed, they also were in some sort of good mood. 

“My boys are back!”, Dutch called out, his arms wide. “So, any good news?”

“Colm wasn't there. But killed some of his mangy men. Got all the money outta that place”, Bill told while pushing Kieran forward.

“Why's that maggot still alive?”

“Ain't no need to kill 'im”, John mentioned. “Saved Arthur 'n told us where the money's at. Colm's boys would get 'im so he wanna be part of us.”

“Oh, that's...” Dutch didn't find the words to describe his amusement, he laughed bassy, his hands on his hips. “Wanna be part of us? That's adorable.” His laughing stopped at once and he glared at Kieran. “Fine. But I ain't trust you yet.”

“Just... p-please don't tie m-m-me to that tree again!”, Kieran begged, almost falling to his knees. 

“Don't worry, lad, that's not necessary no more.” Dutch gave Kieran his most generous smile, then went to Bill and John to get the money they got for the camp. After that, he disappeared behind his tent to – hopefully – put it into the box. 

“Mary-Beth, why don't you go and show Kieran around while I-”

“B-but you're on good terms with him”, she lamented.

“Yes, but I don't have time for that now.” You had spotted dried herbs at Mr. Pearson's cart and you needed to know if you needed them in the near future. Without waiting for an answer, you went over to the cook's place and inspected he sparse variety of herbs to spice the food. After a few closer looks you finally found what you had been searching for. Sage and rosemary. 

You had decided that being afraid of finding yourself again at that place with the glistening sky and blood flooded ground did not help you at all. Maybe you had to go there again, after all this had left more questions than answered them. But protection was a must, if you had to provoke its re-appearance. 

On your way to your sleeping place you went by Hosea. He was sitting on the table, reading something, it seemed to be some sort of paperback. Unsolicited you sat down by his side and watched him read. 

“Well, hello”, he finally said after a while. He closed the paperback and turned to you. “So you survived that tantrum.”

“Yah, that had not been a bright idea of the girls to ask Dutch now”, you remarked. “Still, the idea _per se_ ain't bad.”

“It's dangerous to go alone.” Hosea eyed you, then furrowed his brows. “How'd you get these?” He softly touched your right forearm, which was covered in bruises. Though Charles had said he wouldn't hold back, you had the strong suspicion that if he actually had not held back, your arm would be broken by now. 

“You ain't gonna tell Dutch?”

“Don't tell Arthur, don't tell Dutch – you're quite full of secrets”, he mused. 

“It just ain't their business.” 

“Well, why not? I won't tell Dutch about how you got these bruises.”

“Charles teaches me how to fight”, you explained. Just then you saw Arthur pass by you and Hosea, going to Dutch's tent. You glanced over to the leader of the gang, he was sitting with Molly in their tent, reading something. So they got along again? You wished Molly would go for another man. Like, almost any man here in camp would be better.  
You looked back to Hosea. “Teaches me to defend myself.”

“That's good. But why not tell Dutch? I'm sure he'll be fond of you trying to be part of our family”, Hosea said, a fatherly smile appeared on his face. 

“I don't know... maybe I'll talk to him later”, you evaded his question. 

It was then when you heard Dutch and Arthur talk, you could even understand what they were saying. Hosea shot you a glance, obviously interested, too, in what they were saying. You grinned at each other for the shared feeling of being a spy.

“Not yet, but Hosea's working on it”, Dutch just said really loud as if it added to his words credibility. 

“When we heading west?” Arthur's voice rumbled. It was clear he wanted to leave this place. This was far east and there was a high chance of getting caught – many towns and villages meant quite a few law-men roaming around. 

“Soon... I don't know.” Shaking his head, Dutch took a step forward, away from Arthur. 

“Feels like things have changed”, Arthur mentioned as Dutch sat down on his small wooden folding chair. “The whole world's changed. That they don't want folk like us no more.” He approached Dutch.

Hosea and you exchanged a concerned look. Suddenly you felt as old as he was. 

“We're being hunted”, Arthur went on. 

“We are smarter than them”, Dutch almost growled. “Only the feeblest of men take jobs in the government.”

At least Arthur laughed, it was fake, but there. “I hope so.”

“Trust Dutch, Mr. Morgan”, you could hear Molly say. “Ya have to.”

 _Why would you say that, Molly?_ , you wondered. But then again, Dutch was impulsive and Molly was probably afraid. So there was your answer.

“They got Micah!”

“Lenny?” Hosea looked over to the young man who almost jumped off his steed.

“Dutch! Arthur!” Lenny now was off his horse, on his way to the two men. He didn't pay attention to Hosea and you. Why would he? Would the two of you safe him?

The two men, as well as Molly, came to meet Lenny halfway, he was quite shaken.

“What's going on”, Dutch demanded to know, still his voice lacked that certain masterful tone. It was rather worried. 

“Micah! He.. he's been arrested for murder. He was in Strawberry and...” Lenny wouldn't stop talking and the words fell out of his mouth like marbles out of their sachet.

“It's okay, son. Breathe.”

“They nearly lynched me”, Lenny slowly said while putting his hands on his knees. He took another deep breath. “They... they got Micah in the sheriff's in Strawberry... and there's talk of hanging him.”

“Here's hoping”, Arthur almost chuckled. 

“Arthur”, Dutch scolded the man.

“What? That fool brought this on himself. You know my feelings about him, Dutch.”

“And yours”, Hosea mumbled so only you could hear him.

“What the hell, Hosea?”, you whispered. “Are ya siding with Arthur and me this time?”

“Who knows. Who even likes Micah?” The older man shrugged his shoulders, then grinned devilishly at you. 

“I mean, yeah... but...” _But what? If they hang him, all the better._

“You think I can't see past his bluster to the heart inside?”, Dutch pointed to his own heart and you thought that his was maybe even smaller than yours. “He is a fine man.”  
At least, you thought, his brain was smaller than yours. 

“No, I ain't saving that fool!” Arthur tried to walk away, angry and pissed. 

“I can't go!”, Dutch argued. “My face will be all over West Elizabeth. I am asking.”

“Did he just spit a bit?”, you wondered aloud.

“Shh, or else he'll hear us”, Hosea warned. 

“He would do it for you.” Well, now Dutch was exaggerating and he knew. 

“I don't think he would, but...”

Unfortunately you couldn't contain yourself no more, you just had to leave one spiteful comment. “Micah wouldn't even safe his mother if he gained nothin' from it.”

“Shhht!”

But it was too late, the few people standing well away from you suddenly turned around to glare at Hosea and you. The two of you were still halfway ducked on your chairs in order to not get seen too easily. 

“Well, I think I just changed my mind”, Dutch said, a smile appeared on his face. “You don't have to get him, Arthur. We got ourself a volunteer.” Then he turned to the other man. “And Arthur, you take that kid to town, Valentine, not Strawberry. Get him drunk... and Arthur – no crazy business.”

“I've given that up”, Arthur called behind Dutch, but the leader of the gang had already turned his back to the rest of the camp, getting back to reading with Molly. 

“And you, lass, get Micah out of that prison. If he dies, I don't want to see your face here again. And if I find out you did nothing to safe him – just let me say I'll find you.” 

You just nodded, lips pressed together. Hosea threw you a sorrowful glance, while Arthur took Lenny with him. As the two passed by you, Arthur put a hand on your shoulder.

“You shouldn't have to do that.”

“Oh, don't worry. It'll be alright”, you lied.

After spending some more time with Hosea, talking about Valentine and what to get there and what not to get there, you excused yourself under the pretext of early tiredness. He nodded and wished you a good night's sleep.

You paid Karen a short visit to check on her. She was sitting on her own, smoking, staring into the darkening sky. Soon it would be night. With aching joints – training for so long was more strength-sapping than thought – you sat down at her side. You opened your mouth to say something, but Karen was doing the same, so you just put your arms around your knees instead. The bruises seemed to glow in an angry violet. 

“I just don't get why he got so … there was no need to lose it like that. That's not like Dutch. Never thought he'd shout at me like that”, she said, blowing smoke out of her nose. “Feels like I poked around in a hornets nest. Don't know what's so wrong about the idea, it's brilliant.”

“Maybe he doesn't know me well enough to trust me with that”, you slowly said. _Take the blame_ , your friends voice stated in your head. _As often as you have to. Be on good terms with the right people and you get everything you want. If you take blame, they think you're strong and trustworthy. So, take it._

“Still he shouted at me like I'm a... a misbehaved child!” Karen turned to face you, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glistened with fury. “He's got no right to treat me like that.”

“It's my fault, I've been angering him too often with minor things, I guess. Don't think it's because of your idea.”

“Well, still. He better watch his mouth, can't talk to me like that.”

“I'm sure he'll drop by to apologize, you two just need time to cool down a bit”, you suggested and hoped Dutch would do that. If not, you had to ask him to. Because it was true what Karen had said. She was no misbehaved child, she had only provided a very clever plan. 

“I hope he does”, she muttered, then smiled at you. “What do ya need anyway?”

“Nothing, just wanted to check on you. Actually, I gotta go to sleep now. Dutch sends me to safe Micah. Bastard got caught”, you said and got up. 

“Just let that dipshit rot there.”

“Maybe. I'll see how he behaves”, you grinned. “Good night, Karen.”

“G'night. And thanks for dropping by.”

“Always for my friends.”

Karen blew you a kiss which you caught playfully, pressing your fist against your chest. She giggled and you went towards your sleeping place. What she had not noticed was you taking her matchsticks while sitting down. You needed a small fire after all.

A short while after that you sat in in the woods, in front of you in a hole you digged some small branches were smouldering. You threw the rosemary and sage on top of it, strongly scented smoke emitted into the dusty sky. While trying to relax, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

You laid down, your hands on the ground, fingers almost clawed in the soil. The scent of cleansing sage and protecting rosemary you felt almost safe enough to dare another encounter with – and if it was – Freyja. 

Luckily your body was tired and your mind overworked – you fell into a trance-like sleep almost right away. You felt light-headed and warm.

_You open your eyes and you are at the doctor's practice where you work part-time. You stand behind the counter and a person without a face tells you they have broken jaw. They don't. You tell them to go see a plastic surgeon._

_Just then your favourite colleague comes up to you and embraces you. Welcoming you back after being gone for so long – and how the hell has your vacation been? Where have you been again, Tahiti?_  
_She smiles._  
_Then she rams a scalpel into your stomach._  
_It hurts. As you look down, you are not wounded. But there is blood everywhere._

____

_“See, I told you you are alive”, your friend says. She shakes your head with her hands like you're mental. “But you better wake up now. You cannot sleep the blame away. You better WAKE UP.”_

Calling out your friends name you startled up, you were covered in green leaves and dirt. Slowly you sat up. Well, if that hadn't been a wild ride. Tahiti. Your brain was a mental place.  
This had not been the encounter you had hoped would happen. Just as you wanted to retry, you felt a deep, nagging pain in your stomach. 

“Ugghh...” You clenched your teeth and pressed your hands onto your belly. The pain grew worse with every moment. Panting you crawled towards the still smoking herbs and buried them with moist soil, each of your movements was slow and defined by how much pain they caused.  
How had you forgotten you always had these deadly cramps? You needed to go to that doctor in Valentine. No tea, no hot cataplasm, no soothing words could help you. You needed pain killers. Right now. 

As you got up you almost gagged – you did not remember the pain being that bad. Ever. You felt dizzy and weak, your legs were not to be trusted.  
Somehow you made it to camp where you bumped – bad eyesight due to pain and probably tears, also – right into Miss Grimshaw. 

She grabbed you on your upper arms, her hands were warm. “Hey... you don't look so good.”

“Appreciate it”, you tried to be funny, but failed. These jokes did not work with weak and breaking voices. 

“What is it? Did you get ambushed? What happened?”

“It's my... my menstruation.” Because fuck modesty, you felt like dying at any given moment, so why not tell what you suffered. “It's bad.”

“It damn sure is.”

“I need a doctor, Susan.” This time, you grabbed her arms, holding onto her. “I...” Another sting of burning agony was sent through your body. Again you had to clench your teeth in order to not cry out loud. “Please.”

Somebody approached Susan, but you couldn't tell who it was. You only noticed that you got covered in blankets, you were helped onto the cart. A male voice charmed the horses to go faster.  
You rolled into the tiniest fetal curl you could manage and whimpered to yourself.


	35. It's (P)MS babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now is the time to really use your part-time occupation as Pinkerton's little helper. And maybe you can even eradicate past mistakes with that?

As you woke up bright light hurt your eyes, you felt dizzy. Your skin was all itchy, as if you were covered in a blanket made of irritating fabric. Your mouth felt dry, even more so your tongue, it almost was stuck, glued on the bottom of your mouth. At the same time you didn't really care. Let that tongue be stuck, whatever. 

“G'mornin', lass.” The voice was friendly and warm. With great effort you turned your head and squinted your eyes against the sunlight. Embraced by brightness sat an elderly man, his long face wrinkled and benevolent.

With lips as dry as firewood, you could not answer, it didn't bother you. You smiled at the man and felt your lips crack open, your leathery tongue tasted blood.  
For a second you wondered what they had done to you, but whatever it was, it had been okay. Your pain caused by your period had vanished.

“I'm sorry I knocked you out like that.” The friendly man came closer, sunlight got entangled in his silver beard. His huge hand felt hot on your forehead and suddenly his smile was horselike – his teeth were immense, right in front of your face. “The lady said you needed a lot and you needed it right there and then. And I gotta say, you were in quite a bad shape, lass. Slept through the night.”

It felt like your tongue did not belong to you as you licked your bleeding lips. You took your time as you said each and every word carefully to make yourself understood. 

“What did you give me?”

“Morphine, my dear. Although it's effect is going to fade soon.”

“The pain will be back, then. I need something for that.”

“I can sell you some Morphine for later.”

It sounded tempting, to sleep without pain, to feel as light as you did right now. But you could not. In your brain you could hear Dutch's warning, his voice strangely contorted, his face blurry and grotesque.  
No, Morphine was not something to use carelessly. 

“No. You got something else?”

“I don't, sorry, lass.” He pitied you and you did not understand why. Why did he sound like he regretted what he said?

After a short while you understood. There was nothing else but morphine these days, nothing that would not knock you out like that. The man went away and you sank back, groaning. That meant you had to go through these days without anything but tea and clenched teeth. “Shit.” Mumbling you took another look around.

Half an hour later you found yourself at the streets of Valentine again, you were starting to sweat in fearful anticipation. You knew your uterus just too well.  
Licking your chopped lips again, you blinked while looking down the street. You thought you spotted a person you knew. Peering ahead you took a deep breath, standing was harder than expected.  
Yes. You knew the guy over there.  
It was Arthur. Why did he stagger like that? Why was he holding his head? 

You stumbled towards him. “Arthur. Arthur, wait.”

“Skuld?” He turned around, his face pale and eyes shiny. Was he hungover? 

You blinked again, then remembered what Arthur had been doing last night. Of course he was hungover, he had been drinking all night with Lenny, getting wasted beyond limits. So he'd gotten caught while causing more than ruckus. Funny, you had managed to outrun the sheriff in game.

“Arthur”, you slurred and made you way to the man. He was looking terrible, eyes bloodshot, his face was pale and blotchy. And he smelled like … you screwed up your face. “You smell like piss.”

He furrowed his brows at you. “What? Ya try to be Miss Grimshaw?”

“No, what you tryna be? Personification of durian?”

“What?” He peered at you as if you were speaking in tongues. 

“What? You reek. Boy, you need a bath.”

“You don't say.” He turned away from you. 

As your gaze followed him, it met the hotel of Valentine. They offered baths there. Hot water, soap and maybe even coffee of one asked nicely. You had a very bright idea. 

“Yo, Arthur”, you said and staggered after him. Luckily he stopped. This man had manners. “Let's take a bath. Like, ya need one, damn.”

“A bath? I ain't got no money left.” Running his fingers through his thick hair, Arthur groaned. “Oh boy, I can smell me.”

“Ya, please take your arms down.”

He did as asked and you yawned, blinking while looking down the street. Arthur at your side seemed to be just as tired and exhausted as you felt.

“So?”, he wondered after a minute, looking over to you.

“I got some money with me.” You threw him a questioning glance.

Bubbles covered the surface of the hot water, the scent of beeswax-candles lingered in the warm room. You lay bathtub, your body mouth-deep in water, only your nose and eyes above it so you would not drown. Seeing was merely a bonus. Everything felt warm and welcome, not even your lower abdomen caused you pain right now. 

As much as you knew Arthur had to wait until you were finished with your bath since you had not been willing to use that tub after he'd layered everything with his post-drunkenness-duria-stink. Actually, he had asked you to use the bathroom first, so you had paid for both of you in advance. 

Blowing more bubbles with your mouth, you half-lidded stared onto your toes, you had your feet resting on the brim of the tub for a few minutes. You would start to take care of your hair very soon. Just not now. Now you wanted to watch the bubbles and chill.

“How long will ya occupy that tub? Or did ya finally drown?”, you heard Arthur call out, then a knock followed his words.

“You wish”, you bellowed right back. “Few minutes. Relax, would ya?” Taking a deep sigh you washed your hair combed it, which was not as bad as expected – Charles came to your mind, Charles and his fingers in your hair. 

“I swear, if ya just lay in there like a dead fish...”

“What kinda rush do ya have? Just don't lift your arms”, you answered lippy. “If ya don't wanna drag me out of here, you just have to wait for a few mo-”

The door got pushed open and Arthur went into the room – backwards, though. “I asked a nicely 'n I told ya that... damn, the more sober I become, the worse I feel. Can ya just get out of there?”

“You gonna use my used water?” Although you did not quite trust him, you hastily climed out of the tub and put the cosy towel from the hotel around you.

“Can't be as bad as my armpits, right?” Was that a chuckle? You would bet it was.

“If you don't mind”, you mumbled. “It's free. But I gotta dress myself again.”

“Just get behind that … thing.” With a hardly interpretable gesture of his hand he tried to show you something. Arthur had turned around, not making any attempt to eye you. Instead he already started to take his shirt off. 

_Thing? Thing? Think!_ , you told yourself, trying to find anything in this room that could be used as visual cover. That chair would not work. Neither the small makeup table in the corner.  
But then you indeed spotted a room divider – which only reached up until your collarbone. Well, it had to do. You fled behind it and sat down.

“What are ya doin'?”, Arthur asked, then cleared his throat. “Whatever it is... keep doin' it. I'll get... you know.”

“I _know_. I don't wanna see it anyway.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Water splashed with these words and a silent thud told you that he now sat in the bathtub. Well, maybe his relieved groan told you that, too.

“Ever seen a girl who goes all crazy 'bout any dick?” You crouched behind the cover and put on your clothes, which was harder than expected. Disturbing other peoples privacy was something you were good at, but you didn't do it on purpose. At least not all the time. Sometimes, yeah. If deserved.

“What – what the hell?”

“Yeah, that's what we think, too.” You remembered the first and last time you had seen a penis life – must've been that anatomy-class two years ago. You had no desire to see one again, at least in private life, whatsoever. Listening to the sounds, you found you heard a bit too little. “Are you washing yourself already?”  
Carefully you got up a bit, just so much that you could peer over the rim of the visual cover. Arthur had his eyes closed, his arms lay on the brim of the bathtub. You were glad for all the bubbles.  
Was he sleeping? 

“Arthur, are you awake?”, you asked, still behind the cover. He didn't answer. “I'm gonna leave now.” At least you had warned him that you would walk past him now.  
But just as you had taken two steps, the door got opened and a young woman glimpsed inside. 

“Are you in need of a helpin' hand?”, she asked, obviously she had not spotted you.

“Yeah, why no-” But Arthur did not come to ask her in to scrub his back and legs and whatnot. 

She had seen you in that moment, her silver voice sounding embarrassed – like she had disturbed you while having some private time. “Excuse me, ma'am, sir. If you need a sponge, there's one on the stool.” And with that, she closed the door behind her.

Arthur and you stared after her, onto the wooden door.  
As you looked over to Arthur, you already managed to get that impish grin going. “Yeah, why not?”, you repeated his words. “You need help washing your back?”

“It's nice sometimes”, you defended himself.

“I can call her back”, you offered. 

“No need to.”

“Oh, don't tell me you're gonna sulk now.” You sighed. “I didn't ask her to leave, okay?”

“I know.”

“But you would've liked that back-scrub?”

“It's nice.”

“Can't believe I'm doin' that”, you mumbled to yourself as you threw you sparse things onto the floor and went over to said stool. And there it was, that sponge. You took it, then went to the bathtub, placing yourself behind Arthur.  
Although he tried to see you, he could not. Him doing an 180 degree head-turn successfully would cause you to jump through the window, probably.

“What are ya doing?”, he wanted to know – you already rolled up your sleeves. 

“Bend over.”

“What?”

“Bend over.” You rammed the sponge into the hot water – then started scrubbing Arthur's back, from top down. “You want a back-scrub, you'll get one. That's what friends are for.”

“Never had my friends scrub my back”, Arthur burbled and you could see him blow away the bubbles in front of his nose.

“Asking helps”, you suggested. With circular movements you softly scrubbed his shoulders, his broad back. While doing so you counted the few scars on his back - some almost not to see, but there were three nasty ones, they looked like something had tried to claw him to death. These must've hurt. You were clever enough to not pay too much attention to them. Later maybe. Instead you turned your concentration to his muscular upper arms. That man was built to kill bears, if necessary with his own hands. Maybe he didn't even notice you work on his back? Better ask.  
“That okay? Or is it too much pressure?”

“It's fine”, he mumbled, although his voice seemed to be nothing more but a soft rumble, sending small waves through the water.  
Being cared for was always nice, you knew that. And though you had not imagined you'd take care of Arthur that way, it was in a strange way pleasant.  
There was no tension between the two of you, you felt at ease being around Arthur and although you two tended to squabble somehow now and then, he seemed just as contented with you around.

Slowly you worked down on his back and sides, then you took his right arm and softly scrubbed his hand, then up the arm to his shoulder. You scrubbed extra much in his armpits, causing him and you to giggle awkwardly. You repeated that on his left arm, then gave Arthur the sponge. 

“I'll leave the rest to you”, you stated, then went to the door. “I'll wait outside.”

He just huffed, then leaned back in the bathtub. Water was splashing and for a second you feared there would not be enough bubbles. As a matter of prudence you looked into the upper right corner of the room. Then there was nothing for about half a minute. You looked back. He seemed to take a nap. 

“Did you die by maximum stress-relief or what?”

“Don't ruin our calm moment”, he said, then shooed you out, grinning.

Arthur was as friendly as to take you with him to camp since Wodan was still there. Whoever had brought you to town had forgotten that you needed to come back again for clothes, food and maybe, yes, your horse. Because you would not walk over to Strawberry. Especially not in that state.

“Why are you here?” Miss Grimshaw stomped towards you, her eyes merely angry slits. Her hands were tight fists, pressed into her hips as she approached you. “How did you get out of town?”

“Arthur took me with him, obviously”, you said, pointing at his horse. “I mean, I didn't want to walk.”

“That's not what I mean”, Susan said, then caressed your clean hair. “I told the doctor to keep you at his place for the time being. And now you're here.”

“Yeah.” What else to say? “Guess I still am on a mission, right? Micah's waiting.”

“Don't tell me you want to safe that fool?”

“I kinda gotta”, you grinned sheepishly. 

“What's wrong?”, Arthur chimed in, softly nudging Susan. 

The woman stopped in her walking and stared at the two of you, thinking. “You both did bathe.”

Arthur and you exchanged a look. “Yes.”

“Together?”

“Well, it was more... I came first, then Arthur.”

“I don't want to know how much gentleman he is when it comes t-”

“ _Jesus, Susan!_ ” Arthur buried his face in his hands. “She was in the tub first and after she was done bathing, I got in.”

“Oh.” Susan seemed to be becalmed, but also unsatisfied. “I thought...”

“ _Oh!_ ” You finally got what she had been thinking. “What the hell, Susan?! Ew!”

“What do ya mean, _ew_?!” Arthur stared at you as if you had insulted you him in an exorbitant way.

“Just... ew.”

The three of you parted ways, in mutual silence. You went to your sleeping place, got your bag with the remaining money, the revolver and the notebook, as well as your other clothes and then back to Wodan. 

On your way there you told Sean you'd go get Micah now, if anybody was asking where you were in the next few days. You also told him you didn't want to start a ruckus, so it might take longer than two days to come back with an alive and healthy Micah.

Somebody had combed Wodan. His mane was like a veil and his fur almost glistened. Maybe it had been Charles. Or Javier. Or even Kieran. Who knew. You were grateful, patted the stallion's neck and mounted him.

The ride to Strawberry was easygoing and undisturbed. The weather was nice, it wasn't too hot, neither did it rain. It was late afternoon when you arrived, the streets were busy with people shopping or families taking a break from big city life. This place surely was filled with a certain buzz.  
Smiling you dismounted Wodan at the saloon, gave him a cookie and went, after having a careful look around, to the sheriff's place. Which happened to be right left to the saloon. 

Hidden behind some barrels and an old traction engine was the ground-floor-entrance to the sheriff's office, which also served as prison. Casually you went to the barred window, where Micah was standing, staring wildly into the freedom he now missed.  
As you got closer, he noticed you – and pressed himself onto the bars.

“Hello scumbag.”

“Skuld! You're here”, Micah said, sounding as if he was still pursued and not already in prison. “I knew you had a liking on me. Great. Now, get me out of here.”

“Why would I? You're a nasty, terrible man. You boast about all kind of shit but everything you do is fuck shit up.”

“Please, you know I like ya!”

“Don't you mean you like my vagina?”, you retorted.

“I like your tits more, but yes, who'd say _No_ to you.”

“I got talk to the sheriff”, you decided. Maybe they could hang him today, then you could claim you had been too late or something like that. You turned your back on Micah's badly-hit face, which was a true relief for your eyes.

“He won't set me free! They 'bout to hang me!”

“Maybe he allows me to kill ya instead.” You didn't flinch as he called you some quite unique and insulting names. Did he actually think this would better his chances? 

As you climbed the few stairs to the main entrance of the office, another idea hit you. Maybe you could sell Micah to the Pinkerton's, wouldn't that be funny? Sell them their own spy, you wondered how they'd react.  
Or maybe you could talk the sheriff into postponing that hanging so you could ride down to Blackwater, get the missing descriptions of the other gang members and only then you'd think about freeing Micah. 

Or, maybe you'd just be too late. Karma's a bitch, after all. You had to experience that on your own just now.

You entered the office and though you knew the interior and everything, the smell of freshly cut wood and muddy boots and fresh coffee surprised you. These were the things you could not know.  
Luckily the sheriff was in, he was scribbling onto some sort of official form. 

“G'day sir, sheriff.” You smiled at the man in his late forties, who looked up to you.

“Hello Miss. Can I help you?” He noticed your hair, his eyes lingered on it for some seconds, maybe thinking about if you were a con artist or broke out of a circus. Who knew what kind of strange freaks they had there. 

“Yes, I was wondering about one of your prisoners. He looks familiar. That blond guy, kinda ugly. He's in for murder.”

“Ah, you're talking about Micah Bell.” The sheriff shoved his hat a tad back to have better look at you.

“Yes, exactly. Yes.”

“Well, what 'bout him?”

“I'd rather talk about that somewhere... else. He doesn't have to hear, you know”, you said, hoping that this man would get that some things must not be discussed in earshot of the prisoners. 

“Sure, Miss.” He achingly got up, then tapped the wooden handrail leading downstairs to the cells. “Abe, take care of the place. I'll be back soon.”

“Sure thing, boss”, Abe called back from the cells, sounding as if he was about to have the time of his life.

The sheriff and you were sitting on the porch of the town's doctor's office, far enough from the prison – definitely out of earshot of Micah. Which was much to your satisfaction.

“So, what did you want to say, Miss?”

“I'm working for the Pinkerton's Detective Agency, got hired by a certain Mr. Milton. He's down in Blackwater. I got assigned to find a gang of outlaws, the Van der Linde Gang. And I suspect Mr. Bell is one of them. When is his hanging?”

“Schedule says tomorrow afternoon.” Now he eyed you with more respect and interest. A woman as a Pinkerton? Strange enough, but alone on the hunt for a whole gang? 

“Can you postpone that for two days? I need to talk to Mr. Milton if he has interest in questioning Mr. Bell or if I'm allowed to do that. Is that possible?”, you asked, nodding towards passer-by's who shot the sheriff and you quizzical looks. 

“Well, Miss, that's... let's send a telegram.”

“Sure, I'd appreciate that.”

Although the sheriff did not let you type the telegram, he still had the sense to ask for your name, you told him you're Nancy Renard.  
For the time being, waiting for a reply, the sheriff went back to his office; not without promising you that he'd send Abe to come fetch you if there was an answer. You had no objections and checked into the hotel.  
You started to feel some sort of nauseous pain in your stomach and thought another hot bath would not hurt in the meantime.


End file.
